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AMATEUR  AND 
EDUCATIONAL  DRAMATICS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

MSW  YORK  •   BOSTON  •  CHICAGO  •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO..  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MBLBOURNB 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Lm 

TOKOMTO 


Amateur  and 
Educational  Dramatics 


BY 

EVELYNE  MILLIARD 
THEODORA  McCORMICK 
KATE  OGLEBAY 


Endorsed  by 
Educational  Dramatic  League 


2T(Ut  fork 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1917 

AU  rigJitt  reserved 


Copyright,  1917, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  eleotrotyped.     Published,   October,   1917. 


PREFACE 

A  wider  use  of  Educational  Dramatics  is  made 
possible  through  the  recognition  of  certain  elements 
not  usually  considered  as  fundamental.  Original 
work  constituting  a  departure  from  conventional 
instruction  in  this  field  has  been  undertaken  by  the 
authors  of  this  book.  Each  author  presents  in  the 
chapters  indicated  the  results  of  specialized  work, 
which,  taken  collectively,  represent  a  complete  pres- . 
entation  of  the  subject  from  a  view  point  never 
taken  before. 


387528 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  What  Is  Educational  Dramatics  —  Its  Results  : 
Help  in  building  of  character  —  In  better  under- 
standing of  the  lives  about  us  —  In  building  up 
the  body  — In  Expression.    Evelyne  Hilliard     .      i 

II  Games  and  Plays  of  Children  in  Relation  to 
the  Drama:  Personification  and  imitation  — 
Invented  personalities  —  Kindergarten  games  — 
Stories   in   semi-dramatic    form  —  Story  playing 

—  Pantomime.    Theodora  McCormick       .     .     .     ii 

III  Teaching    Reading    by    Means    of    Dramatics: 

Reading  and  acting  nursery  rhymes  —  Old 
Mother  Hubbard  —  Making  up  rhymes  to  read 
and  act  —  Creating  a  desire  to  read  —  The  real 
meaning  of  the  words  brought  out  by  acting  — 
Playing  little  stories  —  Overcoming  shyness, 
awkwardness  and  selt-consciousness  —  Cultivat- 
ing the  imagination  —  Mental  pictures  —  Their 
absolute  necessity.    Evelyne  Hilliard  ....     25 

IV  Dramatization:    Dramatizing  well  known  stories 

—  Silas  Marner  —  Arranging  a  poem  in  dramatic 
form  —  Horatius  at  the  Bridge  —  Inspirational 
dramatization  —  The  Twenty -fourth  Psalm  — 
Dramatizing  a  poem  —  Young  Lochinvar  —  Mak- 
ing up  an  original  class  play  or  pageant. 
Evelyne   Hilliard 34 

V  How  TO  Write  A  Play:  Choosing  a  subject  — 
Crises  of  life  —  Conflict  —  Construction  of 
framework  —  Charts  of  crises  —  Bluebeard  used 
as  illustration  —  Scenario  —  Development  of 
Characters  —  Lines  —  Exposition :  different  types 
— "Planting"  properties  and  setting  —  Sus- 
pense — "  Obligatory  Scenes  " —  Action  and  In- 
terest.   Theodora  McCormick 55 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

y   VI    Process  of  Production:    The  choice  of  a  play  — 
Preliminary  rehearsals  —  Behind  the  production 

—  Business  committee  —  Stage  manager  — 
Lights  —  Costumes  —  Make-up  —  Properties. 
Theodora    McCormick 75 

VII    Important    Points  :    Team    work  —  Cues  —  Exits 
and     entrances  —  Crowd     work  —  Stage-pictures 

—  Harmony  of   colours.    Evelyne  Hilliard   .     .     99 

VIII  Analysis  of  Two  Scenes:  An  analysis  of  the 
teaching  of  a  play  for  Primary  Dramatics  — 
The  Enchanted  Garden,  by  Constance  D'Arcy 
Mackay  —  An  analysis  of  the  teaching  of  a 
scene  for  High  School  Dramatics  —  As  You 
Like  It,  Scene  11.    Evelyne  Hilliard  .     .     .     .108 

IX  The  Use  of  the  Voice  in  Developing  a  Play: 
Text  —  Reading  —  Speech  —  Breath  —  Articula- 
tion —  Diction  —  Word  colouring  —  Emphasis. 
Evelyne  Hilliard        131 

X  The  Body  as  an  Instrument  in  Amateur 
Dramatics  —  Its  Use,  Freedom  and  Control  : 
The  body  a  physical  mechanism  —  Voluntary 
and  involuntary  movements  —  Actions  expressive 
of  the  dominating  emotion  —  Degrees  of  suscep- 
tibility of  players  —  Difiference  in  expressions  of 
the  same  emotion  —  Origin  of  expression  —  Ex- 
amples from  Darwin  —  Expression  a  part  of 
feeling  —  Developing  sympathy  in  a  player  — 
Self-consciousness  — •  Spontaneous    performances 

—  Enlarging  the  player's  horizon  —  Spoken 
language  —  Limitations    of   imitation  —  Value  of 

"  leaving  the  player  alone."    Kate  Oglehay  .     .  141 

XI  The  Study  of  Dramatics  a  Help  in  Earning  a 
Living:  As  equipment  for  teachers  —  As  a 
specialty  —  Dramatic  director  —  Reading  plays 
aloud  —  Story-telling  —  As  an  asset  for  the 
business    woman.    Evelyne   Hilliard     .     .     .     .161 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Scene  from  Tennyson*s  "  Princess  '*....    Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"Expression  not  repression" lo 

Artisan  Scene  from  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream"     .     .     52 

Scene  from  "The  Sleeping  Beauty"  showing  tapestry 
made  of  painted  burlap,  crowns,  armour  and  mediae- 
val head-dresses  of  buckram 96 

Twig  of  Thorn.  Good  type  of  costume  play  for  all  girl 
cast.  Notice  how  each  character  is  engrossed  with 
the  dramatic  situation 102 

"  In  a  stage  picture,  usually,  there  is  a  central  point,  and 
on  both  sides  of  this  the  parts  must  balance  well "     .  105 

Garrick  Players  in  Tagore's  "  Post  Office."  Showing  the 
naturalness  and  simplicity  resulting  from  "  leaving 
the  players  alone "  in  rehearsing 150 

Blind  Boy  Scouts  in  "The  Making  of  Larry"  by  Harold 

Strong  Latham,  illustrating  the  enlargement  of  their 
horizon  of  life  by  a  training  in  Educational  Dramatics  168 


AMATEUR  AND  EDUCATIONAL 
DRAMATICS 

CHAPTER  I 

WHAT   IS   EDUCATIONAL  DRAMATICS 

ITS   RESULTS 

Help  in  building  of  character  —  In  better  understanding  of  the 
lives  about  us  —  In  building  up  the  body  —  Expression. 

Perhaps,  in  order  to  explain  exactly  what  some- 
thing is,  the  best  way  is  to  tell  first  what  it  is  not.  , 
Educational  Dramatics  is  as  far  removed  from 
amateur  dramatics  as  the  real  true  outdoors  of  the 
country  is  removed  from  the  stage  picture  of  the 
country.  Amateur  dramatics  may  be  good,  may  be 
elevating,  may  educate,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  edu- 
cational dramatics.  The  difference  lies  chiefly  in 
the  fact  that  in  amateur  dramatics  it  is  the  "  show," 
the  fine  performance  that  is  the  principal  object;  in 
educational  dramatics  the  development  of  the  player 
is  the  principal  object.  The  performance  is  merely 
a  goal,  the  climax  of  the  work,  but  it  is  not  of  first 
importance. 

Educational  dramatics  is  not  primarily  intended 
for  the  professional   stage.     On   the  professional  I 
stage  the  manager  chooses  the  actors  for  their  special 
ability  to  play  the  various  parts.     No  stage  man- 
ager would  choose  for  the  part  of  the  hero  a  man 


2  Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

who,  in  previous  engagements,  had  always  acted 
tlie  old  man.  In  educational  dramatics  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  is  done.  The  boy  who  plays  the 
*'  king  "  one  year  is  cast  for  the  "  beggar  "  the  next, 
in  order  to  develop  his  character,  to  give  him  the 
beggar's  outlook  on  life  as  well  as  the  king's, 
through  playing  the  different  parts.  Physique  alone 
debars  an  actor  from  taking  certain  roles,  but  even 
this  is  overlooked  in  educational  dramatics,  unless 
the  physique  would  produce  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
in  the  mind  of  the  audience,  which,  of  course,  must 
always  be  avoided  for  the  player's  sake.  Every- 
thing is  done  for  the  player,  and  the  performance 
to  a  great  extent  takes  care  of  itself.  The  very 
heart  of  educational  dramatics  is  the  development 
^of  the  player.  This  development  is  brought  about 
by  giving  him  a  part  quite  different  from  his  own 
life.  The  part  is  analysed  until  it  sinks  beyond 
the  mere  presentation  and  into  the  very  heart  and 
life  of  the.^|gtQr.  The  part,  as  it  were,  becomes  his 
own,  a  partoihis  own  life,  developing  his  character 
as  real  life  experiences  do.  He  is  absolutely  natural 
because  everything  he  does  is  the  result  of  a  com- 
plete understanding  of  himself  as  the  character.  It 
gives  a  spontaneity  and  finish  to  a  performance  that 
can  be  gained  in  no  other  way.  When  a  group  of 
players  is  trained  by  a  teacher  understanding  the 
science  of  educational  dramatics,  the  result  is  quite 
different  from  that  obtained  by  a  group  trained  by  a 
teacher  who  does  not  understand  the  science.  The 
science  of  educational  dramatics  applied  to  a  play 
gives  its  performance  an  ease  and  charm  that  is 
indescribable.     The  amateur  actor,  from  his  com- 


What  Is  Educational  Dramatics  3 

plete  understanding  of  the  part  he  is  portraying,  ^ 
actually  lives  it.     He  thinks  the  thoughts  the  char-  { 
acter  would  think,  and  feels  only  the  emotion  of  the    v 
person  in  the  play.     He  allows  the  character  to  take 
i  absolute  possession  of  his  own  personality,  and  he 
\moves  and  speaks  and  has  his  being  as  the  character. 
He  does  not  think  or  imagine  he  is  the  character, — 
he  merely  allows  the  character  to  use  his  person,  his 
mind  and  voice  and  body  to  express  itself  through  y 
him.     He  steps  aside,  as  it  were,  and  lends  his  per- 
sonality to  the  part.     By  analysis,  he  knows  the 
character  almost  as  well  as  he  knows  himself,  and, 
therefore,  the  character  in  his  person  acts  naturally 
and  spontaneously.     There  is  no  question  of  imi- 
tating any  one ;  the  action  springs  from  the  thought, 
as   actions   do   in   real   life.     In  the   "  imitation " 
method  it  is  like  putting  on  something  outside,  add- 
ing on  a  new  grace  or  action  or  gesture  copied  from 
the  acting  of  some  one  else,  possibly  the  dramatic 
director,  or  using  some  preconceived  idea  of  what  the 
acting  of  the  part  should  be.    ' 
fin  educational  dramatics,  thg  player,  by  analysis 
of  the  character  he  is  to  play,  develops  the  part  from  ^ 
within  his  own  heart  and  mind,  and  this  analysis 
results  in  natural  gesture  and  action. 

Of  course  the  dramatic  director  may  suggest  what 
the  character  might  do  under  given  circumstances, 
but  he  never  forces  his  personal  idea  of  the  ac- 
tion upon  the  player.  It  must  come  only  as  the 
result  of  the  player's  own  complete  realization  of  his 
part.  The  director  may  suggest  that  under  such 
and  such  circumstances,  such  a  character  as  the  text 
would  seem  to  indicate  would  be  liable  to  do  such 


4         Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

and  such  a  thing,  and  thus  help  the  player  to  under- 
stand more  clearly  the  part  he  is  studying.  The  di- 
rector may  ask  questions  about  the  action  if  it  seems 
confused,  such  as  — **  Why  is  Brutus  moving  about 
in  that  nervous  way?    Is  he  nervous?  ''     This  will 

,    usually  bring  out  analysis  and  clear  up  the  situation. 

*  A  director  may  even  illustrate  a  point  of  action,  if 
he  does  it  to  bring  out  characteristics  in  a  general 
way;  but  the  director  may  not  teach  by  imitation,  if 
he  wishes  to  teach  according  to  the  science  of  edu- 
cational dramatics.  All  the  dramatic  director  has 
to  do  is  to  see  to  it  that  the  thought  of  the  character 

V*  being  portrayed  is  correct  and  perfectly  understood 
by  the  player.  The  action  will  then  correspond  and 
help  give  out  the  thought  in  the  clearest  and  simplest 
way.  Occasionally,  of  course,  an  action  itself  has 
to  be  worked  out,  as  for  instance:  how  to  manage 
the  exit  to  make  it  a  little  quicker;  just  how  to  lift 
the  chair  into  place  in  the  best  way;  how  shall  a 
knight  carry  a  sword;  how  the  queen  shall  mount 
the  throne  and  handle  her  train ;  what  is  the  proper 
way  for  a  lady  to  curtsey;  what  is  the  easiest  and 
best  way  to  rise  from  a  low  chair.  But  this  is  not 
made  a  part  of  the  acting;  it  is  merely  to  help  the 
character  to  use  his  or  her  body  more  gracefully. 
Incidentally  it  also  makes  the  player  more  easy  and 

7  graceful  in  everyday  life. 

All  work  is  done  wholly  for  the  benefit  of  the 
player.     Teaching    players    through    this    method 

,    gives  a  performance  a  naturalness  and  charm  that 
can  come  only  with  perfect  understanding  and  true 
\  love  of  the  player  for  the  part.     He  becomes  so  en- 
veloped in  his  part  that  no  self-consciousnes5  can 


What  Is  Educational  Dramatics  5 

penetrate  to  disturb  his  realization  of  it,  and  he  often 
gains  an  ease  and  natural  grace  unsuspected  by  even 
his    nearest    friends.     These    qualities    developed  / 
through  his  work  in  the  play,  he  uses  to  advantage  [^ — 
in  his  everyday  life.     This  bridging  the  acting  of  ai 
part  across  into  the  real  life  of  the  player  is  thej  ^ 
v^ork  of  the  teacher  and  one  of  the  vital  rules  in! 
educational  dramatics. 

It  is  the  teacher's  part  to  scientifically  use  the 
dramatic  imagination  and  dramatic  instinct  to  give 
to  the  pupil  a  fuller  life,  by  teaching  him  to  know 
and  understand  other  lives  by  working  them  out 
in  the  form  of  acting.  The  teacher,  by  analysing  :^ 
the  motives,  causes,  and  true  reasons  for  the  char- 
acter's words  and  actions,  brings  the  player  to 
know  and  sympathize  with  the  lives  of  others.  The  ^^ 
watchword  is  **  analyse."  She  talks  about  the  char-* 
acters,  about  their  relations  to  one  another,  their 
past  life,  their  past  environment,  their  probable  life 
before  the  play  began;  about  their  thoughts,  their 
real  motives  and  feelings.  Thus,  by  study  and  an- 
alysis, the  teacher  arouses  in  the  player  a  growing 
understanding  and  sympathy  with  his  part,  which 
finally  takes  away  all  self -consciousness  and  allows 
his  dramatic  instinct,  —  always  ready  to  respond, — 
to  act. 

The  teacher  of  educational  dramatics  should  have 
courage  and  knowledge  to  deal  with  this  tremendous 
force, —  experience  in  life  and  a  love  for  the  player, 
the  work,  and  the  part,  in  order  to  instil  into  the 
player  the  love  of  his  part  and  waken  in  him  the 
desire  to  give  it  out  in  its  highest  form. 

The  knowledge  of  this  science  is  the  greatest  asset 


6         Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

a  teacher  can  possess.  A  teacher  who  has  carefully 
studied  the  laws  of  this  science  is  as  far  removed 
from  the  ordinary  dramatic  coach  as  ordinary  ama- 
teur dramatics  is  removed  from  educational  dra- 
matics. 

The  result  of  educational  dramatics  might  be 
divided  ^rito  three  parts  —  first,  the  result  to  the^ 
player  and  his  growth  through  character;  second,  the 
enlargement  of  his  understanding  and  his  resultant 
comprehension  of  the  lives  about  him;  third,  the 
physical  change  and  improvement  that  often  takes 
place  in  him.  Of  course,  all  three  are  closely  inter- 
woven, yet  they  can  be  treated  separately  and  so, 
perhaps,  best  explained. 

Take,  for  instance,  a  scrubby  boy  whose  thought 
has  mostly  been  directed  towards  *^  scraps,''  and 
their  settlement  by  force  of  fist.  Put  him  in  a  play 
where  he  represents  a  judicious  ruler  of  his  people, 
where  right  alone  is  might  and  justice  only  reigns 
supreme.  What  a  new  and  illuminating  light  must 
come  to  him  to  solve  his  own  life  problem.  Would 
he  not  learn  through  the  part  he  played  that  his 
former  method  was  incorrect?  Might  it  not  some- 
what change  his  nature  ? 

Take  a  girl  who  has  never  had  a  dainty  instinct, 
whose  hands  and  face  are  always  soiled,  whose 
thought  has  never  risen  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
"  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness.''  Give  her  the 
part  of  the  charming  little  princess  of  the  play; 
dress  her  in  the  pure  white  frock  of  that  character; 
surround  her  with  the  pretty  accessories  belonging  to 
a  princess :  will  it  not  open  her  eyes  to  that  dainti- 
ness which  is  her  right? 


What  Is  Educational  Dramatics  7 

The  rich  young  man,  in  a  play  takes  the  part 
of  the  poor,  under-paid  clerk.  In  the  play  he  suf- 
fers because  he  is  not  able  to  pay  his  rent ;  he  can- 
not properly  clothe  or  educate  his  children.  Do 
you  not  think  that  after  playing  such  a  part  the' 
rich  young  man  will  better  understand  the  case 
of  the  poor  clerk?  Suppose  there  is  a  clerk  who 
rages  in  his  heart  against  the  rich,  who  feels  a 
terrible  hatred  for  all  rich  men.  Give  him  the 
part  of  a  banker,  burdened  with  many  cares;  let 
him  see,  through  acting  the  play,  how  "  uneasy  lies 
the  head  that  wears  a  crown,"  and  his  hatred  melts 
away  in  understanding. 

There  is  a  little  dissatisfied  girl,  who  thinks  her 
life  the  hardest  in  the  world.  She  longs  to  be  rich 
and  great.  Cast  her  for  a  part  like  the  ''  PoOr  Little 
Rich  Girl."  Let  her,  through  her  dramatic  instinct, 
see  and  know  the  curse  of  having  too  much.  Her 
outlook  on  life  is  changed. 

Take  the  big,  strong  boy  of  the  East  side,  full  of 
vitality  and  pent-up  energy.  -  He  becomes  the 
leader  of  the  **  gang,"  because  he  must  express  him- 
self somehow,  and  the  glittering  position  of  leader- 
ship allures  him,  appeals  to  his  dramatic  instinct. 
The  picture  of  having  a  clanging  wagon  come  to 
arrest  him,  with  the  gang  fighting  the  police  to  res- 
cue him,  flits  across  his  imagination  as  part  of  the 
game.  Give  this  same  boy  a  big,  noble  part,  let  him 
express  himself,  and  he  becomes  a  leader  in  an- 
other way  and  blazes  a  trail  for  the  gang  to  follow. 

In  every  form  of  amateur  dramatics  developed 
educationally,  the  actor  is  elevated ;  but  if  it  is  first 
the  **  show  "  and  not  the  "  player,"  it  is  not  educa- 


8         Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

tional  dramatics.  It  will  have  educational  results, 
but,  to  be  purely  educational,  it  must  be  concerned 
always  with  the  benefit  to  the  player.     The  teacher 

^  tries  to  educate  the  player  through  the  part  he  takes 
in  the  play.  She  tries  to  cast  him  for  a  .part  that 
will  give  him  a  new  outlook  on  life,  and^she  tries 
to  show  him  that  outlook.  She  analyses,  explains, 
works  out  the  character  given  to  the  player,  until 
he  begins  to  see  the  real  heart  and  life  of  that  char- 
acter,—  until  he  begins  to  absorb  into  his  own  life 
the  lesson  which  he  could  otherwise  only  learn  by 
personal  experience  in  his  own  life,  and  through  a 
long  life  of  experiences.  Real  Hfe  is  too  short  and 
too  hemmed  in  by  environment,  to  give  him  those 
experiences.  E^ftsaiiences,  and  the  lessons  they 
teach,  develop  cfiaracter.  Through  educational  dra- 
matics we  can,  in  a  way,  have  those  experiences  and 
so  develop  character. 

The  second  point  to  be  gained  as  the  result  of 
i"^  educational  dramatics,  is  the  understanding  of  the 
lives  and  people  about  us.  Our  success  in  life  and 
in  our  work  is  gained  by  understanding  the  people 
with  whom  we  come  in  contact,  and,  therefore,  any 
study  which  will  give  us  this  knowledge  is  the  study 
we  most  need.     Educational  dramatics  is  a  direct 

'study  of  man.  Educational  dramatics  analyses  ac- 
tions and  discovers  the  motive  for  such  actions ;  an- 
alyses the  voice  and  finds  out  the  reason  for  changes 
in  the  tone ;  analyses  words,  and  finds  out  their  real 
meaning, —  decides  why  certain  words  are  used  to 
convey  certain  thoughts,  and  what  the  thought  is 
that  the  words   convey;   reverently  and   lovingly 


What  Is  Educational  Dramatics  9 

studies  man  in  all  his  varied  changes,  and  thereby 
enlarges  sympathy  and  broadens  understanding. 

The  third  end  achieved  by  educational  dramatics 
is  the  effect  upon  the  body.  Take  the  careless, 
slovenly  person,  whose  life-thought  has  not  made 
his  body  erect  and  well  poised :  let  the  stoop-shoul- 
dered boy  or  girl  play  the  well-poised  character,  and 
let  them  learn,  through  the  part,  to  hold  the  body 
erect  and  firm.  Character  is  improved  by  the  added 
consciousness  of  dignity. 

The  body  is  influenced  by  the  mind,  but  the  mind 
is  also  influenced  by  the  body.  When  one  is  de- 
pressed and  droops  supinely  under  the  load  of  de- 
pression, one  may  stand  physically  erect  and  throw 
off  the  load.  Mentally  it  will  also  disappear.  Make 
the  erect  carriage,  the  definite  step,  the  firm  knees  ha- 
bitual, and  you  have  made  a  change  in  character. 
The  boy  who  has  a  shuffling  gait  and  weak  knees, 
usually  lacks  moral  fibre.  Give  him  a  part  where  he 
must  learn  to  walk  with  a  strong,  definite  purpose, 
and  the  walk  may  become  a  natural  one, —  his  nature, 
too,  may  change  with  the  physical  change.  It  is 
easier  for  a  strong  body  to  fight  off  evil  influences 
than  for  a  weak  body  to  do  so.  It  is  true,  that  the 
spiritual  nature  can  hold  in  check  the  physical  nature, 
so  why  not  equip  the  boy  for  the  battle  of  life,  by 
giving  him  all  the  strong  armour  we  can  provide? 
If  we  can  give  him  an  erect  carriage,  strong  knees 
and  firm  walk,  and  head  held  high,  it  is  our  business 
to  do  so.  The  body  reveals  the  character,  but  the 
character  is  formed  somewhat  by  the  body.  Edu- 
cational dramatics  helps  the  body  to  be  noble. 


10       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Take  these  three  —  the  help  for  the  building  of 
character,  the  help  for  the  building  of  sympathetic 
understanding  of  the  lives  about  us,  the  help  for  the 
building  up  of  the  body  —  and  add  to  them  the  help 
toward  expression.  This  age  needs  ^;r-pression,  not 
r^-pression.  Man  has  been  repressed  too  long.  In 
every  department  of  education  this  is  being  felt. 
What  is  ''  Natural  education ''  but  expression  for 
the  child?  What  is  Froebel's  system  but  expres- 
sion? The  Montessori  system  is  also  based  on  ex- 
pression. Why  this  great  desire  for  dancing?  It 
is  a  means  of  expression.  Dramatics  gives  us  an 
opportunity  to  express  ourselves  and  do  those  things 
v^e  have  so  longed  to  do,  to  be  that  which  we  have 
so  longed  to  be,  to  give  out  in  movement,  voice  and 
words  that  which  has  been  within  us  waiting  for 
utterance, —  to  go  into  that  wonderful  world  of  im- 
agination before  the  gate  closes  forever;  to  act  in  a 
life  away  from  this  stupid  every-day  life  around 
us.  It  is  necessary  for  us  to  do  this,  has  always  been 
necessary,  but  only  now  are  we  coming  to  know  it, 
and  the  best  way  to  know  it  is  to  make  it  educational, 

through  EDUCATIONAL  DRAMATICS. 


J 


CHAPTER  II 

GAMES   AND   PLAYS   OF    CHILDREN    IN    RELATION 
TO    THE   DRAMA 

Personification  and  imitation  —  Invented  personalities —  Kin- 
dergarten games  —  Stories  in  semi-dramatic  form  —  Story 
playing  —  Pantomime. 

Personification  and  imitation  are  two  of  the 
fundamental  instincts  of  the  human  race,  and  from 
L  their  union  may  be  traced  the  development  of  the 
drama  of  today.  The  universe  is  seen  by  every  one 
through  a  lense  of  his  own  individuality.  Civiliza- 
tion and  education  bring  a  wider  vision,  but  unde- 
veloped intellects  can  see  little  beyond  the  ego  of 
themselves.  They  are  their  world.  Everything 
outside  exists  only  in  so  far  as  it  effects  their  expe- 
riences of  life.  The  abstract  is  beyond  their  com- 
prehension, and  the  concrete  must  be  translated  into 
terms  of  their  understanding.  Since  "  self  "  is  the 
key  word  of  their  being,  they  endow  objects,  and 
things  outside  of  themselves  with  an  imaginary  per- 
sonality, similar  to  their  own. 

In  primitive  and  simple  languages  there  were 
only  two  genders ;  masculine  and  feminine.  Conse- 
quently everything  was  divided  into  two  classes. 
Whatever  had  the  characteristics  of  man  was  given 
the  personality  of  men;  and  whatever  the  feminine 
qualities,  became  as  women.  For  example,  the  sun 
was  the  mightiest  power  known  to  the  primitive  peo- 
ples.    It  bestowed  warmth,  light  and  growth  to  their 

II 


12       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

plants.  It  gave  good  gifts.  Sometimes  it  did  them 
harm  by  the  strength  of  its  arbitrary  power.  There- 
fore, it  was  as  a  man,  a  great  man,  mightier  than  the 
earth  man ;  it  was  like  a  ruler,  a  king.  It  was  wise 
to  placate  him  with  prayers  and  offerings,  daifces 
and  songs.  Thus  he  became  a  god  with  all  the  at- 
tributes of  a  man.  In  the  same  manner  the  earth 
was  given  the  personality  of  a  woman,  for  it  was 
she  who  bore  the  fruits  of  life.  So  winds  and 
water,  summer  and  winter,  wars,  love,  and  wisdom 
acquired  personalities,  became  gods  and  goddesses, 
and  gathered  about  themselves  life,  history  and  char- 
acteristics, like  those  of  men. 

Our  own  race  has  not  grown  far  beyond  the 
tendency  to  personify.  A  generation  or  two  past 
conceived  their  god,  concretely,  in  the  image  of  man, 
not  man,  abstractly,  in  the  image  of  God.  If  you 
can  pry  from  any  child  his  ideas  of  God,  you  will 
probably  discover  that  he  imagines  an  anthropo- 
morphic deity:  a  benevolent,  white  whiskered  old 
gentleman,  who  sits  upon  a  cloud  and  possesses  all 
the  mildly  agreeable  characteristics  of  some  elderly 
friend  or  relation. 

Children,  in  fact,  have  a  vast  circle  of  inanimate 
friends  or  enemies.  These  may  be  well  known  ob- 
jects, or  abstract  things  to  which  they  have  at- 
tached personalities,  personalities  absolutely  absurd 
and  unreasonable  to  "  grown-ups  ''  but  logical  and 
inevitable  to  themselves.  A  group  of  city  children 
found  a  large  garlic  plant  in  a  vacant  lot.  This 
plant  they  adopted  as  the  symbol  of  their  "  club,'' 
and  in  time  grew  to  regard  it  with  a  fierce  primitive 
adoration.     It  was  the  first  green  thing  that  ap- 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  13 

peared  in  the  spring.  It  grew  at  the  foot  of  a 
sumach  bush ;  and  when  one  knelt  down  close  to  the 
earth  and  drew  a  deep  breath,  one  smelled  strong 
pungent  odours  of  earth  and  sumach  and  garlic  that 
awoke  dim  and  delightful  visions  of  great  open 
fields  and  woods.  There  among  pavements  and 
apartment  houses  that  garlic  plant  embodied  all  of 
nature  and  of  spring.  No  wonder  it  was  to  the 
children  no  mere  plant,  but  a  personality,  a  fetish, 
almost  a  God.  To  them  it  was  sacred.  A  sacred 
garlic  plant ! 

There  was  an  obvious  reason  for  this  personijfica- 
tion;  but  often  the  reasons  are  completely  hidden  in 
the  mysteries  of  a  child's  mind.  A  certain  little 
girl  took  a  peculiar  dislike  to  the  key  of  E  upon  the 
piano.  Her  music  teacher  found  that  the  child  al- 
ways played  that  scale  with  great  reluctance,  and 
tried  to  discover  the  basis  of  her  antagonistic  feel- 
ing toward  it.  Finally  the  child  admitted  that  she 
**  couldn't  stand  the  scale  of  E."  It  was  exactly  like 
a  very  haughty,  sarcastic  and  altogether  disagreeable 
woman  who  was  always  dressed  for  a  tea,  with 
white  furs,  lorgnette  and  spotless  white  gloves. 

These  invented  personalities  are  apt  to  escape 
from  the  control  of  their  originators,  and  gain  the 
"  upper  hand  "  in  a  dangerously  despotic  manner. 
A  little  girl  made  a  large  paper  doll  giant  from 
brown  paper,  drew  a  hideous  face  upon  it,  and  put 
it  in  a  "  castle  "  behind  a  door,  and  then  was  afraid 
to  enter  the  room  where  it  was  lurking.  Little 
woolly  blankets  would  seem  to  the  casual  adult  to 
be  harmless,  rather  dull  things ;  but  to  children  they 
appear  to  have  some  strange  and  appealing  vital 


14       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

quality.  Nor  is  this  vital  quality  meek  and  timidly 
gentle  as  their  appearance  would  suggest.  On  the 
contrary,  if  once  a  woolly  blanket  acquires  a  person- 
ality and  gains  a  footing  in  a  household,  it  quickly 
shows  its  true  dominant  individuality.  The  child 
who  possesses  it  will  become  absolutely  dependent 
upon  it,  demanding  its  presence  before  he  will  sleep. 
No  matter  where  the  family  go,  ''  Woolly  "  must  go 
too,  and  often  years  pass,  under  the  nightly  suprem- 
acy of  '^  Woolly  "  until  at  last  its  proud  spirit  suc- 
cumbs to  holes,  and  it  perishes  after  the  manner  of 
all  blankets. 

These  illustrations  show  that  man  early  in  his 
development  attributes  existence  and  individuality, 
somewhat  like  his  own,  to  objective  things.  Grant- 
ing that  these  objective  things  have  an  existence, 
the  next  step  toward  a  more  complete  understand- 
ing of  that  existence  is  to  partake  more  fully  of  its 
nature.  He  must  absorb  its  significance  into  his 
consciousness  and  then  express  it  through  his  own 
comprehension.  He  must  make  the  objective,  sub- 
jective. He  has  no  real  appreciation  of  the  mean- 
ing of  anything  until  he  has  taken  it  into  himself, 
and  then  given  it  out  again  with  his  own  interpre- 
tation. 

The  attempt  to  put  himself  in  the  being  of  some- 
thing or  some  one  else,  and  then  to  act  as  it  acts  is 
imitation.  This  imitative  desire  of  man  enables  him 
to  convey  his  impression  to  others;  and  this,  says 
Loomis  Havermeyer  in  his  "  Drama  of  Savage  Peo- 
ples," '*  is  the  real  origin  of  the  Drama."  *'  What 
the  child  imitates,"  says  Froebel,  "  he  is  trying  to  un- 
derstand."    He  is  trying  to  express  in  terms  of  his 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  15 

own  action,  some  impression  he  has  gained  of  some- 
thing outside  himself. 

The  union  of  these  fundamental  desires  for  per- 
sonification and  imitation,  and  the  subsequent 
growth  of  the  drama,  may  be  seen  and  traced  in  the 
kindergarten  games  and  simple  school  plays  of  to- 
day. 

The  following  is  one  of  the  simplest  of  the  kinder- 
garten songs : 

*'  Come  little  leaves  said  the  wind  one  day, 
Come  o'er  the  meadows  with  me  and  play, 
Put  on  your  dresses  of  red  and  gold 
For  summer  is  gone  and  the  days  grow  cold." 

"  Soon  as  the  leaves  heard  the  wind's  loud  call 
Down  they  came  fluttering,  one  and  all. 
Over  the  brown  fields  they  danced  and  flew 
Singing  the  sweet  little  songs  they  knew." 

In  this  game  two  things  of  nature  are  personified : 
the  wind,  and  the  leaves.  The  children  sing  the 
song  in  unison,  and  imitate  the  action  of  the  per- 
sonified leaves  with  their  hands.  It  is  all  done  in 
chorus,  and  neither  personification  nor  imitation 
have  been  far  developed. 

In  the  next  step  toward  the  drama,  the  game  is 
more  complicated.  There  is  still  a  ring,  or  chorus 
which  does  most  of  the  singing,  but  imitation  is  fur- 
ther developed.  We  will  take  the  '*  Five  Little 
Chipmunks  "  and  plot  it  in  dramatic  form.  In  this. 
Chipmunks  are  given  a  well  defined  personality, 
and  are  of  equal  importance  with  the  ''  boys  "  who 
are  also  characters. 


1 6      Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

''  FIVE  LITTLE  CHIPMUNKS  " 

Characters 

Five  Chipmunks  ^ 

Chorus 

Scene  —  An  imaginary  woods.  The  chorus  stands  in 
a  ring.  The  five  little  chipmunks  are  in  a  group  in 
one  corner. 

Ring  or  Chorus 
Five  little  chipmunks  lived  in  a  tree. 
Says  the  First  Little  Chipmunk, 

First  Chipmunk 
What  do  I  see  ? 

Chorus 
Says  the  Second  Little  Chipmunk, 

Second  Chipmunk 
A  boy,  I  declare ! 

Chorus 
Says  the  Third  Little  Chipmunk, 

Third  Chipmunk 
A  storm  in  the  air. 

Chorus 
Says  the  Fourth  Little  Chipmunk, 

Fourth  Chipmunk 
Fm  not  afraid. 

Chorus 
Says  the  Fifth  Little  Chipmunk, 

Fifth  Chipmunk 
Let's  hide  in  the  shade. 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  17 

Chorus 
{Suddenly  impersonating  boys.) 
"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah ! ''  cry  the  boys, 
And  Five  Little  Chipmunks  run  at  the  noise. 

(Chipmunks  run.) 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  come  back,"  say  the  boys, 
"  Come  back   Httle   chipmunks   we'll   make  no   more 
noise." 

(Chipmunks  return.) 

There  is  dramatic  structure,  even  if  very  ele- 
mentary in  this  song.  A  curious  parallelism  may  be 
seen  between  games  of  this  type  and  the  ancient 
Greek  drama:  in  both,  the  chorus  carries  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  plot  and  links  together  the  speeches 
of  the  characters.  Possibly  the  same  ethnic  impulse 
accounts  for  the  similarity  of  dramatic  development 
between  that  age  of  the  race  and  this  age  of  the 
child. 

In  this  game,  "  The  Five  Little  Chipmunks,"  the 
dramatic  structure  is  excellent  because  each  speech 
is  essential  to  the  plot,  and  carries  the  action  along 
swiftly  to  the  climax.  There  is  not  one  unnecessary 
word.  The  Ring,  or  chorus,  supplies  the  exposition 
in  the  first  line,  "  Five  Little  Chipmunks  lived  in  a 
tree."  It  introduces  the  first  character  in  the  sec- 
ond line.  The  First  Chipmunk  strikes  the  tone  of 
expectancy  and  suspense.  The  Second  Chipmunk 
heightens  the  interest.  The  Third  Chipmunk 
throws  the  attention  ahead  to  an  obligatory  scene  of 
conflict  and  trouble  by  anticipating,  *'  a  storm  in  the 
air."  The  Fourth  Chipmunk  supplies  the  element 
of  courage  with  his,  "  I'm  not  afraid."    The  Fifth, 


1 8       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

replies  with  the  contending  element  of  fear.  His 
speech,  ''  Let's  hide  in  the  shade/'  is  the  climax,  and 
here  the  play  balances  between  the  triumph  of  cotir- 
age  or  fear.  Suddenly  the  Chorus,  now  imperson- 
ating boys,  cries  out,  "  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah !  " 
and  the  Chipmunks,  terrified,  run  away.  If  the  play 
ended  there  it  would  be  a  tragedy.  However,  the 
Chorus  calls  the  Chipmunks  back, —  they  return,  and 
the  play  ends  happily. 

After  this  type  of  kindergarten  game  come  stories 
in  semi-dramatic  form  which  are  used  in  the  first 
and  second  year  of  school.  In  these  the  Greek 
chorus  has  dwindled  from  a  group  to  a  single  chorus 
figure:  the  teacher.  She  supplies  the  exposition, 
explains  the  action,  and  binds  the  speeches  together, 
while  the  children  take  the  various  parts  of  the 
characters.  Here  personification  has  practically  dis- 
appeared, for  instead  of  impersonating  animals  or 
objects  of  nature  such  as  trees,  winds,  sun  and  stars, 
the  children  usually  take  the  part  of  people.  This 
is  a  naturally  later  development,  for  social  conscious- 
ness comes  after  consciousness  of  nature. 

Below  is  an  example  of  "  Bo  Peep  and  her 
Sheep  " —  from  Coe  and  Christie's  "  Story  Hour 
Readers." 

BO  PEEP  AND  HER  SHEEP 

Characters 

Bo  Peep 

Little  Jack  Horner 
Little  Miss  Muffet 
humpty  dumpty 
Chorus  —  Teacher 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  19 

Chorus  Figure 
Little  Bo  Peep  lost  her  sheep 

She  looked  and  looked  but  could  not  find  them.     Then 
she  went  to  Little  Jack  Horner. 

Bo  Peep 
Please,  Little  Jack  Horner,  help  me  find  my  sheep  l 

Chorus  Figure 
Little  Jack  Horner  sat  in  a  corner. 
Little  Jack  Horner  said, 

Little  Jack  Horner 
Leave  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home. 

Chorus  Figure 
Then  she  went  to  Little  Miss  Muffet. 

Bo  Peep 
Please,  Little  Miss  Muifet,  help  me  find  my  sheep. 

Chorus  Figure 
Little  Miss  Muffet  sat  on  a  tuffet. 
Little  Miss  Muffet  said, 

Little  Miss  Muffet 
Leave  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home. 

Chorus  Figure 
She  went  to  Humpty  Dumpty. 

Bo  Peep 
Please  Humpty  Dumpty,  help  me  find  my  sheep! 

Chorus  Figure 
Humpty  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall.     Humpty   Dumpty 
said, 

Humpty  Dumpty 
Leave  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home. 


20       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Chorus  Figure 

Little  Bo  Peep  found  the  sheep  herself.    The  sheep 

came  home  wagging  their  tails  behind  them. 

From  stories  like  this  it  is  only  a  short  step  to 
little  plays  in  regular  dramatic  form.  The  chorus 
is  here  of  little  importance,  in  fact  it  could  almost 
be  entirely  eliminated.  The  connecting  link  of  *'  he 
said ''  and  "'  she  said  "  is  beginning  to  be  left  out. 
Repetition  is  a  distinctive  feature  of  this  play,  as  of 
many  of  the  kind.  After  this  type  comes  the  mod- 
ern drama  in  its  simplest  school  form,  and  the  more 
primitive  expressions  of  personification  and  imita- 
tion are  dropped  and  lost. 

The  games  given  as  illustrations  have  been  the 
more  formal  ones  of  childhood;  but  the  informal 
games  also  may  be  used  as  examples  testifying  to 
the  truth  of  similar  theories.  Many  children,  un- 
fortunately, have  been  robbed  of  their  natural  play 
instinct  by  the  myriad  distractions  of  the  twentieth 
century.  Some,  however,  are  simply  brought  up 
and  still  play  the  old  imitative  games  that  have 
been  played  for  generations.  Little  boys  still  im- 
personate their  heroes,  and  little  girls  still  play  house. 
And  throughout  their  games,  the  dramatic  elements 
are  always  to  the  fore.  Strife  and  conflict  and 
competition  are  the  basis  of  boys'  games.  Watch 
little  girls  playing  house  and  you  will  see  that  they 
delight  in  having  some  especially  bad  baby  who  re- 
fuses to  be  amenable  to  family  discipline.  Here  is 
the  conflict.  Then  the  doll,  or  child  who  plays  the 
part  of  the  bad  baby  is  apt  to  receive  barbarously 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  21 

severe  mock  punishment,  which  supplies  the  primi- 
tive slap  stick  element  of  humour. 

From  these  unstudied  dramatic  instincts  should  be 
developed  a  much  neglected  form  of  dramatic  ex- 
pression: story  playing.  The  teacher  or  director 
should  tell  a  story,  clearly,  placing  much  emphasis 
upon  the  dramatic  crises,  and  sequence  of  events. 
The  parts  of  the  characters  are  then  cast,  and  each 
character  must  know  just  what  relation  he  bears  to 
the  entire  play;  just  what  episode  he  must  bring  out 
to  further  the  action  of  the  plot.  The  players  must 
also  know  their  exits  and  entrances,  but  beyond  that 
nothing  is  definitely  learned  beforehand.  They  act 
their  parts  and  improvise  their  speeches  as  they  play. 
Any  age  children,  from  the  kindergarten  to  the  high 
school,  can  do  this  story  playing,  and  do  it  well, 
after  a  little  experience.  At  first  they  will  be  awk- 
ward and  shy,  and  will  explain  their  business  in  as 
few  and  blunt  words  as  possible.  The  director  will 
have  to  stand  nearby,  and  possibly  take  one  of  the 
minor  parts  herself  in  order  to  prompt  with  sug- 
gestions as  to  what  to  say,  and  when  to  go  out. 
Soon,  however,  the  players  will  become  more  self- 
reliant  and  will  need  no  assistance.  The  training 
in  quickness  of  thought  and  action,  and  spontaneous 
self  expression  is  invaluable. 

A  certain  private  school  tried  this  story  playing 
experiment  among  the  girls  of  high  school  age. 
They  wanted  a  dramatic  club,  but  had  no  time  to 
devote  to  learning  long  parts.  They  took  plots 
with  which  they  were  familiar  ■ —  fairy  stories, 
stories  they  were  studying  in  school,  or  historical 


2  2       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

episodes,  and  acted  them  spontaneously.  The  club 
was  a  great  success.  Girls  who  had  been  shy^and 
unpopular  developed  unexpected  talent  through  this 
stimulus.  Under  the  excitement  of  not  knowing 
what  their  fellow  players  were  going  to  say  next, 
the  necessity  of  replying,  and  the  laughter  and  ap- 
plause of  a  delighted  and  informal  audience,  self- 
consciousness  disappeared  and  a  certain  poise  and 
presence  were  developed. 

Story  Playing  is  not  a  new  and  peculiar  form  of 
the  drama,  with  Dumb  Crambo  for  its  mother  and 
Charades  as  its  father.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  de- 
scended from  an  old  and  illustrious  ancestor:  the 
Commedia  dell' Arte  of  Italy,  which  can  be  traced 
from  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  actors  in  the  Commedia  dell'Arte  became 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  plot  of  the  story  they 
were  to  play,  then  went  on  the  stage  and  spoke 
whatever  occurred  to  them  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment. They  were  always  on  time  with  their  exits 
and  entrances,  and  never  at  a  loss  for  a  speech. 
Sometimes  they  learned  rhymes  or  quotations  that 
fitted  their  part,  but  generally  their  lines  were  pure 
improvisation,  that  sometimes  had  little  to  do  with 
the  plot  yet  usually  carried  on  the  action. 

The  Pantomime,  a  form  of  dramatic  expression 
somewhat  similar  at  first  to  the  Commedia  dell'Arte, 
developed  during  the  middle  ages.  That,  however, 
was  not  the  origin  of  Pantomime,  for  communica- 
tion through  gesture  was  before  communication 
through  the  spoken  word.  Before  men  had  articu- 
late language  they  conveyed  thought  to  each  other 
by  means  of  pantomime  action.     If  w^hen  hunting. 


Games  and  Plays  of  Children  23 

a  primitive  man  saw  the  approach  of  the  enemy,  he 
fled  back  to  his  tribe  and  by  gestures,  imitative  of 
what  he  had  seen,  communicated  his  news.  The 
savage  dances  and  plays  are  almost  purely  panto- 
mime. 

The  development  of  Pantomime  as  we  know  it, 
however,  begins  with  the  Forains  in  1660.  They 
acted  "out  of  doors  on  their  long  narrow  balconies, 
simple  little  pieces  requiring  at  most  three  or  four 
speeches  —  farces  called  parades.''  ^  Their  lines 
were  so  indecent  that  the  legitimate  theatres  suc- 
ceeded in  having  the  speeches  suppressed.  The 
Forains  continued  to  act  however,  *'  and  when  all 
speech  was  forbidden  them  they  went  on  acting 
silently,  enlightening  the  audience  the  while  as  to 
the  progress  of  the  fable  by  ecriteaux  —  scrolls  of 
explanatory  verses  let  down  from  the  ceiling  of  the 
stage.  When  this  in  turn  was  forbidden  they  passed 
about  among  the  spectators  a  printed  outline  of  the 
plot  with  the  songs  fully  written  out,  and  when  the 
orchestra  played  the  air  the  house  was  encouraged 
to  sing  the  gay  words  on  the  programs."  ^ 

From  this  the  Pantomime  grew  and  flourished, 
and  from  these  beginnings  we  can  still  recognize 
traces  in  our  modern  Motion  Pictures  and  Vaudeville 
performances. 

Pantomime,  or  "  acting  Movies,''  as  it  is  called 
is  in  use  in  some  schools  for  the  purpose  of  devel- 
oping natural  gesture.  The  teacher  acts  out  some 
episode  in  pantomime,  and  then  asks  the  children 
to   interpret  her  action.     After  that  the  children 

1  Quoted  from  "The  Commedia  deirArte"  by  Winifred 
Smith. 


24       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

act,  with  the  teacher  or  rest  of  the  class  as  audience. 
Simple  experiences  are  taken  at  first;  perhaps 'a  trip 
in  the  subway,  entering,  giving  a  seat  to  a  lady, 
hanging  to  a  strap,  then  going  out.  Little  by  little 
the  representations  become  more  complicated,  until 
at  last  they  come  to  stories  with  more  involved  plots. 
All  of  these  three  forms  of  dramatic  expression; 
the  formal  but  simple  drama,  the  Story  Play,  and 
Pantomime  are  the  natural  inheritance  of  child- 
hood. Through  their  encouragement  a  child  will  de- 
velop undreamed  of  latent  abilities.  Through  an 
enlarged  scope  of  understanding  will  come  a  greater 
comprehension  of  life  in  general,  and  through  nor- 
mal self  expression  will  come  greater  happiness. 


CHAPTER  HI 

TEACHING   READING   BY    MEANS    OF   DRAMATICS 

Reading  and  acting  nursery  rhymes  —  Old  Mother  Hubbard 
— Making  up  rhymes  to  read  and  act  —  Creating  a  desire 
to  read  —  The  real  meaning  of  the  words  brought  out 
by  acting — Playing  little  stories  —  Overcoming  shyness, 
awkwardness  and  self-consciousness  —  Cultivating  the 
imagination  —  Mental  pictures  —  Their  absolute  necessity. 

The  fact  that  things  done  are  greater  than  things 
heard,  would  seem  to  argue  that  teaching  reading  to 
beginners  can  be  done  more  quickly,  and  with 
greater  accuracy,  through  dramatic  form  than  in 
other  ways.  In  many  methods  of  reading,  dramati- 
zation is  part  of  the  process.  Happy  is  the  child 
who  goes  to  a  school  where  this  is  true, —  where  he 
is  allowed  to  use  all  his  faculties  of  expression  in 
mind  and  body,  and  to  gain  the  freedom  that  comes 
by  so  doing.  Since  the  young  child  has  little  or  no 
self -consciousness,  is  naturally  a  motor  animal,  and 
has  much  dramatic  imagination,  he  enjoys  acting 
out  his  ideas.  All  the  old  nursery  rhymes  give 
ample  material  for  a  child  to  express  himself  in  this 
way,  and  are  also  most  useful  as  reading  lessons. 
When  these  rhymes  are  acted  out,  the  full  meaning 
of  the  words  and  sentences  will  be  fixed  in  the  mind 
of  the  child.  The  familiar  story  of  Old  Mother 
Hubbard,  for  instance,  is  an  excellent  example, 
showing  what  can  be  done  in  acting  out  a  nursery 

2S 


26       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

rhyme  and  learning  to  read  at  the  same  time.  'Thirst, 
we  see  dear  old  Mother  Hubbard  coming  into  her 
kitchen,  all  smiles,  followed  by  her  faithful  dog. 
How  do  we  know  she  is  coming  into  her  kitchen? 
Because  the  poem  says  she  is  going  to  her  cup- 
board to  get  her  poor  dog  a  bone,  and  a  cupboard 
where  bones  are  kept  is  usually  in  the  kitchen.  Why 
do  we  like  her  and  call  her  dear,  and  why  do  we 
think  she  is  smiling?  Because  she  must  be  good 
and  kind  to  be  so  good  to  animals,  and  she  must 
love  the  dog  to  take  so  much  trouble  for  him,  and 
she  must  be  smiling  because  she  knows  that  a  bone 
will  make  the  dog  happy.  Now  we  read  the  text 
carefully  to  see  what  we  are  to  do.  ''  Old  "  Mother 
Hubbard.  Here  we  have  a  fact  about  Mother  Hub- 
bard. She  is  old,  bent  over,  maybe,  or  perhaps  just 
old;  maybe  she  is  so  old  that  she  is  lame  or  uses 
a  cane.  The  idea  of  age  is  acted  differently  by 
every  child,  and  each  child  must  be  allowed  her  own 
expression  of  what  she  interprets  as  "  old." 

Now  we  read  again  to  see  what  she  did,  "  She 
went  to  the  cupboard."  Let  us  here  explain  that 
long  word  "  cupboard,"  but  not  take  too  much  time 
about  it,  for  we  are  so  anxious  to  know  what  old 
Mother  Hubbard  was  going  to  do  when  she  ''  went 
to  the  cupboard."  She  went  '*  to  get  her  poor  dog 
a  bone."  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  word 
"  poor  "  ?  Often  we  say  ''  poor  dog  "  when  we  just 
mean  that  we  like  him, —  a  term  of  endearment. 
Maybe  it  means  here  that  he  was  poor  because  his 
mistress  was  poor,  as  we  shall  discover  in  the  sec- 
ond verse ;  perhaps  it  means  that  he  was  a  thin  dog. 
He  probably  gaily  leaped  about,  and  maybe  barked ; 


Teaching  Reading  27 

or  perhaps  he  was  a  trained  dog,  and  could  sit  up  and 
beg.  Now  what  happens?  *' When  she  got  there 
the  cupboard  was  bare/'  Of  course  Old  Mother 
Hubbard  did  not  know  the  .cupboard  was  bare.  She 
thought  she  would  find  a  bone  there  for  her  dog. 
Had  she  known  the  cupboard  was  bare,  she  would 
not  have  gone  there  for  a  bone  for  him.  Poor  old 
Mother  Hubbard!  She  must  have  been  terribly 
disappointed  not  to  find  that  bone.  And  the  dog  — 
what  happened  to  him  ?  ''  And  so  the  poor  dog  had 
none.''  He  ceases  to  bark  and  leap  joyously  about; 
he  sits  sadly  down,  to  wait  for  better  times. 

Perhaps  old  Mother  Hubbard  cries,  and  maybe 
her  poor  dog  tries  to  comfort  her,  and  in  his  doggy 
way  tell  her  not  to  mind, —  that  he  is  not  so  very 
hungry,  after  all.  Of  course  the  dog  is  repre- 
sented by  one  of  the  children,  and  as  children  usually 
love  to  act  the  part  of  animals,  this  part  of  the  dog 
is  a  general  favourite.  The  children's  interest  in 
the  story,  and  their  anxiety  to  find  out  what  old 
Mother  Hubbard  and  her  dog  were  doing,  are  an  in- 
centive for  the  whole  class  to  read  the  lines.  It  is 
the  easy  road  to  learning. 

Old  Mother  Hubbard  is  merely  a  sample  of  what 
can  be  done.  The  interest  in  doing  these  stories 
never  wanes,  because  each  child  in  acting  it  out 
does  it  differently  and  adds  something  of  interest 
each  time  it  is  done.  One  Mother  Hubbard  after 
another  plays  her  part,  and  one  is  very,  very  old, 
and  one  is  almost  young,  according  to  the  child's 
idea  of  age ;  one  weeps  when  she  finds  no  bone  and 
another  bravely  faces  the  facts  like  a  true  philoso- 
pher. 


28       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Other  rhymes  easy  to  act  are  "  Simple  Simon/' 
"Little  Miss  Muffit/'  "Tom,  the  Piper's  Son," 
"  Mary  and  her  Lamb/' 

Another  method  of  bringing  out  dramatic  action 
with  understanding  is  for  the  teacher  to  read  a 
story  in  prose  which  concludes  with  rhymes.  These 
rhymes  are  written  on  the  blackboard  and  learned 
in  that  way.  The  rhyme  only  is  acted  out.  For 
instance,  the  teacher  might  read  a  story  of  the  com- 
ing of  Spring,  telling  how  beautiful  the  earth  be- 
comes and  how  glad  and  happy  are  all  the  trees  and 
flowers.  The  story  ends  with  the  rhyme,  "  Come, 
come  away.  Spring  is  here  today."  Now  the  chil- 
dren elect  a  leader,  who,  skipping  from  one  to  an- 
other, chooses  playmates,  calling  "  Come,  come 
away,  Spring  is  here  today," —  and  presently  all  the 
children  are  acting  out  the  idea,  each  in  his  own 
way,  and  learning  to  read  at  the  same  time. 

Another  method  might  be  the  quiet  acting  out  of  a 
little  tale.  Write  on  the  board,  "  I  have  found  a 
dear  little  bird."  The  children  all  pretend  they  have 
a  little  bird  in  their  hands.  After  they  have  learned 
to  read  this,  write  on  the  board  "  I  love  the  little 
bird."  All  the  children  show  their  love  of  the  bird 
in  different  ways.  Then  write,  "  Let  the  little  bird 
go  free,"  and  every  child  opens  its  hands  so  that 
the  little  bird  may  go,  eagerly  watching  as  it  flies 
away. 

One  great  gain  in  this  learning  to  read  through  ac- 
tion is  the  training  of  the  imagination.  -A  wise 
teacher,  too,  may  inculcate  a  love  and  care  for  the 
birds,  through  acting  out  this  loving  little  play. 

According  to  all  present  systems  of  reading,  the 


Teaching  Reading  29 

child  must  wish  to  read,  in  order  to  learn.  Any- 
thing that  will  awaken  in  him  that  desire  is  what 
all  teachers  are  looking  to  find.  Certainly  the  dra- 
matic element  must  be  a  help  along  this  line.  The 
old-fashioned  idea  that  the  only  way  to  teach  read- 
ing is  to  have  absolute  quiet  on  the  part  of  the  class, 
and  one  child  read  aloud,  stumbling  along,  to  the 
utter  weariness  and  boredom  of  the  listening  class, 
has  about  disappeared.  They  read  now  to  find  out 
just  what  ''Big  Bear"  said  to  the  ''Little  Bear" 
and  their  great  interest  carries  them  along;  and 
when  they  personate  these  stories  their  interest  in- 
creases. At  first,  children  personate  animals  bet- 
ter than  they  do  humans.  The  reading  lessons  be- 
come most  accurate,  for  their  audience  is  very  criti- 
cal and  will  tolerate  no  mistakes  because  of  the  act- 
ing. This  impersonation  is  a  great  joy,  as  well  as 
a  great  help,  to  the  children.  The  shy,  self-con- 
scious, awkward  child  becomes  transformed  under 
the  skilful  guidance  of  the  wise  teacher,  and  be- 
comes as  graceful  a  butterfly,  as  charming  a  bird, 
or  as  natural  a  beast,  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  As 
the  class  advances  further,  we  see  what  a  help  this 
is  in  discovering  how  the  child  has  failed  to  grasp 
the  true  meaning  of  words  in  what  he  reads.  A 
class  once  read  these  words :  "  The  kid  railed  at 
the  wolf."  The  children  thought  "kid"  meant 
child,  and  that  he  threw  a  rail  at  a  wolf.  When  it 
came  to  be  acted  out,  the  mistake  was  discovered. 
No  amount  of  explanation  helps  so  much  to  show 
mistakes  as  the  acting  out  of  a  thing  will  do.  When 
children  act  out  a  story,  the  words  yield  up  their 
real   meaning.      A   rhilH    may   rear]    very   wpII,    and 


30       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

apparently  correctly,  and  the  listening  teacher  fail  to 
detect  the  slight  inaccuracy  in  pronunciation,  show- 
ing that  the  child  does  not  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  sentence  he  has  read.  For  example :  —  A 
class  once  begged  the  teacher  to  allow  them  to  read 
Jean  Ingelow's  charming  little  poem,  *'  Seven  times 
One,''  asking  her  to  let  them  read  *'  There  is  an  old 
dude  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover."  Some  little 
negro  children  in  a  Mission  class  were  especially 
fond  of  singing  the  hymn  which  has  a  chorus  end- 
ing with  the  lines  "  And  we'll  all  swell  the  harmony 
in  Heaven,  our  home."  A  teacher,  listening  care- 
fully one  day,  discovered  that  they  were  all  singing 
joyfully  '*  And  we'll  all  smell  the  hominy  in  Heaven, 
our  home." 

Mary  Raymond  Shipman  Andrews  writes  of  a 
little  girl  who,  having  heard  ''  I  am  a  soldier  of  the 
Cross,  a  follower  of  the  Lamb,"  was  heard  singing, 
in  all  seriousness,  *'  I  am  a  shoulder  of  a  horse,  a 
quarter  of  a  lamb."  Children  mistake  the  words, 
and  often  do  not  understand  them,  and,  so  long 
as  they  have  the  rhyme  and  rhythm  of  what  they 
recite,  they  do  not  trouble  about  the  meaning  unless 
there  is  some  reason  for  them  to  know  it.  Acting  it 
out  gives  the  reason. 

Pictures  help  very  much  and  make  the  emotional 
ap^peal  that  is  so  necessary  to  understanding.  If  the 
lesson  is  the  "  Poor  little  match  girl,"  a  picture  of 
the  sad  little  child  will  stir  a  feeling  of  sympathy 
and  charity,  as  words  alone  could  not  do.  This 
emotional  preparation  can  be  given  by  letting  the 
children  imagine  the  scene.  Take  ''  Excelsior,"  for 
instance.     Imagine  the  terrible  snowstorm  in  the 


Teaching  Reading  31 

Swiss  Mountains.  Let  the  children  tell  about 
snowstorms  they  have  known  or  heard  about,  and 
then  begin  the  story  of  the  boy  in  Longfellow's 
poem.  Interested  comprehension  and  sympathy 
must  follow.  This  emotional  background  is  almost 
more  necessary  than  the  intellectual  one,  and  it  is 
used  by  many  writers.  For  instance,  in  ''  Evange- 
line " :  *'  This  is  the  forest  primeval,  the  murmur- 
ing pines  and  the  hemlocks,''  gives  at  once  the  sad- 
ness and  tragedy  of  the  coming  story. 

In  an  overture  the  musician  does  the  same  thing 
in  preparing  his  audience  emotionally  for  what  is 
to  follow.  On  the  stage  we  see  this  done  constantly. 
The  tenor  of  the  play  to  be  given  is  shown  in  the 
music  played  before  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  and 
also  the  atmosphere  of  the  production  in  lights  and 
scenery.  In  the  play  "  Magic,"  as  given  in  New 
York  this  past  winter,  the  epilogue  was  a  blue-grey 
scene,  with  strange  and  graceful  trees  outlined 
against  the  sky.  In  the  dim,  blue  light,  was  dis- 
cerned the  figure  of  a  girl,  and  the  very  tall  shape 
of  a  man,  in  a  queer  cloak,  with  the  pointed  hood 
drawn  over  the  features.  With  exquisite  diction 
these  figures  talked  about  fairies  and  phantasy, —  a 
wonderful  preparation  for  the  play  of  "  Magic  '' 
which  followed. 

This  preparation  must  also  be  done  for  the  chil- 
dren in  their  reading  lessons,  if  we  are  to  train  them 
to  appreciate  the  great  literature  which  is  to  be 
gradually  given  to  them.  Th£_environment  must 
bejt2iade_real.  These  mental  or  dramatic  pictures 
are  one  of  the  great  helps  in  teaching  reading.  For 
instance,  "  The  wheat  field  was  all  yellow  with  the 


32       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

grain;  it  shone  like  gold  under  the  warm  sun." 
Can  you  imagine  a  field  of  grain?  Can  you  feel 
the  warm  sun,  and  see  it  shining  on  the  yellow  grain  ? 
Now  read  the  sentence,  so  we  may  all  see  the  picture 
that  you  see.  Try  this  one :  "  But  when  the  grey 
dawn  stole  into  his  tent,  He  rose,  and  clad  himself, 
and  girt  his  sword,  and  took  his  horseman's  cloak, 
and  left  his  tent."  Can  you  see  the  warrior  awaken 
in  the  grey  dawn  ?  Do  you  see  him  vaguely  because 
it  is  the  dawn?  Do  you  see  him  rise  and  clothe 
himself,  and  buckle  on  his  sword,  put  on  his  cloak, 
and  leave  the  tent?  If  so,  you  can  make  any  one 
else  see  it. 

It  has  been  proved  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  mind,  if  it  is  a  good  working  mind,  to  see 
mental  pictures  conveyed  by  the  written  or  spoken 
word.  If  the  mind  does  not  see  these  pictures,  the 
mind  has  been  improperly  trained,  or  is  lacking  in 
intelligence.  The  fuller  and  more  complete  these 
pictures,  the  better  is  the  mind.  These  pictures  re- 
main in  the  consciousness  long  after  the  story  itself 
has  been  forgotten,  and  these  pictures  help  to  form 
the  character.  In  other  words,  wjiat  we  understand 
and  do  is  greater  than  what  we  merely  hear ;  it  is  the 
stirring  up  of  the  imagination.  This  is  one  great 
argument  for  the  need  of  dramatics,  and  how  im- 
portant, then,  is  the  need  that  these  dramatics  be 
truly  educational ;  that  the  picture  which  is  conveyed 
to  the  mind  of  the  child,  be  a  picture  that  shall  edu- 
cate and  help  to  form  the  character. 

A  physician  and  specialist  in  speech  defects  has 
been  making  a  study  of  pictures  in  the  mind  formed 


Teaching  Reading  33 

y      while  people  are  talking,  to  use  in  connection  with 
the  cure  of  stuttering.     He  discovered  that  with 
normal  talkers  usually  a  mental  picture  passes  before 
the  mind,  and  the  stronger  this  mental  picture  the 
more  convincing  is  the  talker.     In  the  case  of  fifty 
stutterers  examined  by  this  physician,  he  discovered 
that  during  stuttering  there  were  no  pictures  in  their 
minds.     He  was  convinced,  therefore,  that  one  way 
to  cure  stammering  was  to  give  to  the  sufferer  the 
ability  to  see  these  pictures  of  the  imagination,  which 
he  set  about  to  do,  with  great  success.     Of  course 
it  is  not  enough  merely  to  arouse  the  imagination ;  it 
must  be  used ;  then  only  does  it  become  re-creative, — 
otherwise,  it  is  a  dissipation  of  energy.     In  the  mere 
amusement  found  by  the  child  in  the  use  of  the  im- 
agination, there  is  very  little  value.     The  imagina- 
tion must  be  used  for  creative  work.     The  trainmg^ 
/  of  the  imagination  ought  to  be  done  while  the^TWTcTis 
f    young,  because  if  left  until  later,  the  atmosphere  of 
j  the   school-room   and   the    fear    of   being   thought 
/    "  queer,''  may  kill  the  spontaneous  expression   of 
j     emotion,  and  thus  the  wonderful  power  of  imagina- 
l    tion  may  be  lost.     Such  a  loss  cannot  be  over-esti- 
\  mated.     It  means  an  inability  to  appreciate  the  fine 
\pirit  of  literature. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DRAMATIZATION 

Dramatizing  well  known  stories  —  Silas  Marner  —  Arranging 
a  poem  in  dramatic  form  —  Horatius  at  the  Bridge  — 
Inspirational  dramatization  —  The  twenty-fourth  Psalm 
—  Dramatizing  a  poem  —  Young  Lochinvar  —  Making  up 
an  original  class  play  or  pageant. 

There  is  incalculable  value  in  the  dramatization 
of  good  literature  or  well-known  stories.  The 
printed  character  leaps  into  visualization  when  put 
in  dramatic  form,  and  teaches  a  lesson  that  no 
amount  of  reading  could  do.  Take,  for  instance, 
''The  Man  Without  a  Country."  Will  not  this 
story,  dramatized,  bring  home  the  true  meaning  of 
patriotism  to  every  boy  and  girl?  The  chivalry  of 
the  knights  of  the  Round  Table  can  be  acted  out  in 
playing  portions  of  the  ''  Idylls  of  the  King,''  and 
the  characters,  as  well  as  the  story,  firmly  fixed  in 
the  minds  of  the  actors,  to  their  lasting  benefit.  The 
power  of  love  can  be  truly  taught  by  giving  scenes 
from  "  Silas  Marner,''  as  no  reading  of  the  book 
could  do.  It  is  excellent  practice  for  a  class  in  liter- 
ature, who  have  made  a  study  of  ''  Silas  Marner," 
to  dramatize  it.  The  story  has  two  plots :  the  main 
plot,  which,  of  course,  is  the  coming  back  of  Silas 
from  a  sordid,  empty  life,  to  natural  human  rela- 
tions through  the  loss  of  his  gold  and  the  coming 
of  Eppie.     The  second  plot  is  the  life  of  Godfrey 

34 


Dramatization  35 

Cass, —  his  weakness  and  failure  to  fulfil  the  obliga- 
tions belonging  to  marriage  and  fatherhood.  The 
two  plots  overlap  through  Eppie.  The  scenes  can 
be  taken  all  through  the  book,  or  only  a  few  selected. 
The  following  is  a  series  of  splendidly  vital  scenes. 

Scene  I.  The  library  of  Squire  Cass ;  introducing 
Godfrey  and  Dunsey  Cass;  the  quarrel  between 
the  two  brothers. 

Scene  II.  The  Rainbow  Tavern;  introducing  the 
men  of  the  village;  Silas  comes  to  tell  of  his 
loss. 

Scene  III.  Silas  Marner's  home;  the  coming  of 
Eppie. 

Scene  IV.  The  same;  Eppie  a  woman;  introduc- 
ing Aaron  Winthrop. 

Scene  V.  Home  of  Godfrey  Cass;  Godfrey's  con- 
fession to  Nancy. 

Scene  VI.  Silas  Marner's  home;  Godfrey  and 
Nancy  come  for  Eppie;  Eppie's  refusal  to  leave 
Silas. 

Arranged  in  this  way,  it  would  be  very  effective 
for  students  of  the  book.  Of  course  this  arrange- 
ment of  scenes  is  not  suggested  for  a  play  to  be  given 
before  an  audience,  but  simply  for  pupils  who  have 
studied  or  read  the  book  and  are  familiar  with  the 
parts  of  the  story  which  have  been  left  out  of  the 
dramatization. 

In  dramatizing  a  book  to  be  played  before  a  reg- 
ular audience,  you  must  always  pre-suppose  that  they 
know  nothing  whatever  about  the  story,  and  treat  it 
exactly  as  you  would  original  matter.     Reduce  the 


36       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

book  into  short  story  form,  making  it  very  clear  and 
concise.  In  order  to  do  this,  first  carefully  read 
the  book  and  note  its  salient  points,  then  rewrite 
the  story  in  your  own  language,  leaving  out  all  un- 
necessary descriptions.  Cut  the  story  down  to  its 
actual  events,  making  it  as  short  as  possible.  Next 
decide  on  the  length  you  wish  to  make  the  play,  and 
how  few  scenes  you  can  use  and  still  keep  the  se- 
quence of  events.  Take  directly  from  the  story 
those  scenes  severely  cut.  This  will  make  the  best 
form  for  any  audience  unacquainted  with  the  book, 
and  give  them  a  clear  outline  of  the  story.  This  is 
quite  different  from  taking  scenes  from  a  book,  as 
we  did  in  ''  Silas  Marner,"  and  putting  them  into 
dramatic  form, —  which  is  excellent  practice  for 
dramatization  work  with  students,  when  the  audi- 
ence does  not  have  to  be  considered.  In  the  one 
case,  it  is  for  the  audience  who  do  not  know  the 
book,  but  are  to  be  entertained ;  in  the  other  case  it  is 
for  the  pupils  who  are  studying  the  book. 

Another  very  simple  method  for  making  literature 
dramatic,  is  to  take  poems  like  Macauley's 
''  Horatius  at  the  Bridge,''  Scott's  ''  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  "  Marmion,"  or  any  poem  used  in  connec- 
tion with  the  study  of  literature,  and  arrange  it  as 
follows : 

Four  pupils  are  chosen  to  carefully  study  various 
points  of  the  story.  One  has  the  history  of  the  time 
in  which  the  story  is  laid ;  another  the  costumes  worn 
at  that  period;  a  third  a  description  of  the  setting, 
and  a  fourth  the  story  itself.  These  four  pupils 
write  out  their  various  parts  as  briefly  and  com- 
prehensively as  possible,  and  study  to  read  them  well. 


Dramatization  37 

In  ''  The  Lady  of  the  Lake/'  for  instance,  the  first 
pupil  explains  about  Scott's  life,  the  quarrels  be- 
tween the  Highlanders  and  Lowlanders,  and  the 
causes  which  led  to  the  story.  The  next  pupil  tells 
about  the  costumes  worn  at  the  time,  describes  the 
Scotch  plaids  and  their  significance,  the  weapons  of 
warfare,  and  any  matters  of  interest  pertaining  to 
the  dress  of  that  period.  Another  pupil  takes  up 
the  description  of  the  wild,  Scottish  scenery,  the 
wonderful  lakes,  the  glens,  the  mountains  and  foam- 
ing torrents.  All  this  prepares  for  the  poem  itself, 
by  furnishing  the  background  and  dramatic  atmos- 
phere. The  fourth  pupil  tells  the  story  of  the  poem, 
until  he  comes  to  the  place  where  the  hunter's  steed 
sank  exhausted.  At  this  point  is  recited  the  hunter's 
love  for  his  steed.  The  story-teller  again  resumes 
his  narrative.  When  the  next  vital  point  is  reached, 
that  portion  of  the  poem  is  given  to  a  pupil  to 
recite.  If,  in  the  poem,  there  is  a  scene  where  a 
number  of  characters  speak,  these  characters  are 
assigned  to  different  pupils  and  given  like  a  little 
scene  in  a  play.  This  makes  variety,  and  the  work 
becomes  more  interesting.  In  this  manner  a  class 
can  give  the  entire  "  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

In  making  dramatic  the  poem  "  Horatius  at  the 
Bridge,''  an  interesting  idea  would  be  to  divide  the 
class  into  three  groups,  namely,  the  two  contending 
armies  and  a  listening  group.  Lars  Porsena  is  the 
leader  of  the  Etruscan  Army,  who  are  to  march 
against  Rome  and  try  and  restore  the  ancient  rule 
of  the  house  of  Tarquin.  Rome  is  defended  by  the 
Consul,  the  Senators  and  the  Citizens  of  the  Roman 
Republic.     The  first  twelve  verses  are  read  or  re- 


40       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

ing  from  the  Lord,  and  righteousness  from  the  God 
of  his  salvation/'  The  people  then  make  the  state- 
ment :  "  This  is  the  generation  of  them  that  seek 
him,  that  seek  thy  face,  O  Jacob/' 

The  priests  intone  verse  7:  *'  Lift  up  your  heads, 
O  ye  gates;  and  be  ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors; 
and  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in/'  The  people 
ask,  '*  Who  is  this  King  of  Glory?  "  and  the  priests 
reply, ''  The  Lord  of  hosts,  he  is  the  King  of  Glory/' 

An  excellent  poem  to  dramatize  is  the  stirring 
ballad  of  Young  Lochinvar.  It  has  infinite  acting 
possibilities  for  children.  The  poem  can  readily 
be  divided  into  five  scenes  : 

Scene  I.  The  Road. 

Scene  IL  Netherby  Gate. 

Scene  III  Netherby  Hall. 

IK         Scene  IV.  The  courtyard. 

Scene  V.  The  road. 

^  First,  the  teacher  reads  the  entire  poem  v^ith  sim- 

plicity and  understanding,  and  then,  by  questions 
and  constant  reference  to  the  text,  the  children's  un- 
derstanding of  it  is  gradually  developed  and  their 
interest  awakened  to  the  point  of  acting  it  out.  Be- 
fore beginning  the  first  scene,  let  us  know  in  what 
country  the  story  is  laid.  In  Scotland.  How  do 
we  know?  Because  the  poem  speaks  of  the  Eske 
River  and  the  Solway.  The  Solway  Firth  is  just 
south  of  Scotland  and  the  estuary  of  the  Eske  river 
forms  its  upper  part  and  is  in  the  southeastern  part 
of  Scotland.  Then,  too,  the  poem  ''  Young  Lochin- 
var "  is  a  song  sung  by  Dame  Heron  in  the  Court 


Dramatization  41 

Canto  of  Marmion,  for  James  IV,  King  of  Scot- 
land. 

*'  O  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west." 

What  does  ''  west ''  mean  here?  It  refers  to  the 
western  territory  of  the  border-land  between  Scot- 
land and  England. 

"  Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best." 

''  Border  "  is  a  name  given  to  the  territory  on  either 
side  of  the  line  dividing  England  and  Scotland. 

**  And   save   his   good   broadsword,   he   weapons   had 
none." 

What  is  a  ''  broadsword ''  ?  A  broadsword  is  a 
sword  having  a  flat  blade  for  cutting.  What  does 
it  mean  about  his  having  no  weapons  if  he  had  this 
broadsword?  The  Scotch  knights,  in  the  time  of 
young  Lochinvar,  carried  a  bow  and  arrows,  a  dag- 
ger, a  shield,  and  often  a  lance,  and  young  Lochin- 
var carried  only  his  broadsword,  which  was  almost 
equal  to  having  no  weapons.  He  had  nothing  to 
guard  himself  with,  like  a  shield,  if  he  were  at- 
tacked, and  nothing  to  shoot  with, —  having  no  bow 
and  arrows. 

''  And  he  rode  all  alone." 

The  poem  calls  young  Lochinvar  a  "  knight,' Mater 
a  "  gallant  "  and  a  '*  Lord.''  It  would  seem,  there- 
fore, that  young  Lochinvar  was  of  high  degree,  and 
in  those  days  young  men  of  high  degree  usually  were 
accompanied  by  squires  or  attendants  of  some  kind. 


42       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

It  was,  therefore,  quite  remarkable  that  he  should 
ride  '*  all  alone/'  It  was  brave,  too,  for  Scotland 
was  a  very  rough  country  at  that  time. 

''So  faithful  in  love"  (he  was  true,  you  see), 
''and  so  dauntless  in  war,'' — he  was  brave. 
"  There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar." 
It  means  that  in  those  two  things  there  never  was  a 
knight  like  him. 

"  He  stayed  not  for  brake." 

What  is  a  "  brake  "  ?  A  place  overgrown  with 
bushes  and  brambles. 

"  And  he   stopped   not   for  stone." 

He  went  right  over  every  obstacle  in  his  hurry  to 
reach  Netherby  Hall  in  time. 

"  He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none." 

That  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do,  because,  of 
course,  it  must  mean  that  his  horse  went  right  in, 
too. 

"  But  'ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late." 

In  olden  days  the  fathers  made  the  marriages;  the 
daughters  had  very  little  to  say  about  it;  and  being 
an  obedient  daughter,  she  had  consented.  It  was  not 
a  weakness, —  it  was  a  custom. 

"For  a  laggard  in  love," — meaning  a  man  not 
very  much  in  love, — "  and  a  dastard  in  war," — 
meaning  a  man  who  was  a  coward,  just  the  opposite 
of  young  Lochinvar,  you  see, — "  was  to  wed  the 


Dramatization  43 

fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar/'  Ellen,  you  see, 
was  really  in  love  with  young  Lochinvar  and  prob- 
ably was  very  unhappy  at  being  forced  to 
marry  the  "  laggard  in  love ''  and  the  "  dastard  in 
war." 

Now  let  us  act  Scene  I,  the  road.  Young  Lochin- 
var comes  riding  along  all  alone,  his  broadsword  in 
his  belt,  riding  fast  in  his  hurry  to  reach  Netherby 
Hall.  Possibly  one  reason  why  "  he  rode  all  un- 
armed ''  was  because  he  was  riding  so  fast  and  did 
not  want  to  add  the  weight  of  extra  arms  to  his 
steed.  He  goes  right  ovqr  all  the  stones  in  his 
path  and  through  the  bushes  and  brambles.  He 
comes  to  the  Eske  river  and  does  not  wait  to  find  a 
ford,  but  horse  and  man  swim  across  and  then 
gallop  on.  He  reaches  the  gate  of  Netherby  Hall 
and  leaps  from  his  charger,  leaving  the  horse  stand- 
ing near  the  door.  How  does  young  Lochinvar 
leave  his  steed?  Does  he,  perhaps,  throw  the  lines 
over  the  horse's  head,  and  has  the  animal  been 
taught,  when  that  happens,  to  stand  until  his  master 
returns?  Perhaps  some  small  boy  held  the  horse 
for  young  Lochinvar.  The  horse  must  keep  very 
quiet, —  he  must  not  neigh  or  stamp  or  attract  at- 
tention while  his  master  enters  the  hall,  because  he 
is  not  put  with  the  other  horses :  he  is  kept  right  at 
the  door. 

*'  So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall. 
Among  bridesmen," — these  are  men  who  attend 
upon  a  bridegroom  and  bride, — "  and  kinsmen  and 
brothers  and  all."  Young  Lochinvar  has  no  friends 
there,  you  see;  all  the  guests  are  relations  or  near 
friends  of  Ellen's  father  and  mother. 


44       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

''  Then    spoke    the   bride's    father,   his    hand    on   his 
sword." 

Ellen's  father  is  courteous ;  he  is  the  host ;  he  goes 
right  up  to  young  Lochinvar,  which  is  courageous. 

"  For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word." 

The  "  dastard,"  you  see,  was  afraid.  The  father 
says : — 

"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?  " 

The  father  is  polite.  He  says,  ''  O  come  ye  in 
peace  here,"  first,  before  he  speaks  of  ''  war." 
Young  Lochinvar,  not  being  afraid,  replies : 

''  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied." 

You  see,  he  had  loved  Ellen  for  a  long  time,  but 
Ellen's  father  would  not  allow  her  to  marry  him. 

"  Love  swells  like  the  Solway  but  ebbs  like  its  tide," — 

referring  to  the  Solway  Firth,  an  arm  of  the  Irish 
Sea,  noted  for  the  rapidity  of  its  tides;  Lochinvar 
was  pretending  his  love  had  ebbed  like  the  tide, — 

'*  And  now  am  I  come  with  this  lost  love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine." 

Young  Lochinvar  deceives  Ellen's  father  by  pre- 
tending his  love  has  gone  and  that  he  has  only 
come  to  dance  one  measure  and  drink  a  cup  of  wine. 

"  There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 


Dramatization  '  45 

This  speech  deceives  the  father  and  Ellen,  too.  She 
believes  him,  and  because  she  believes  him  she  "  has 
a  smile  on  her  lip  and  a  tear  in  her  eye/'  She  tries 
to  smile  and  be  brave,  but  she  can't  help  crying  a 
little,  too.  Now  the  bride  kisses  the  goblet  of  wine, 
and  young  Lochinvar  drinks  it  and  "  he  threw  down 
the  cup.'' 

Of  course  this  does  not  mean  that  young  Lochin- 
var is  so  impolite  that  he  throws  the  cup  roughly 
down.  A  "  knight ''  and  ''  gallant  "  and  ''  Lord  '' 
would  not  have  had  bad  manners  like  that. 

"He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could  bar — • 
*  Now  tread  we  a  measure,'  said  young  Lochinvar." 

He  has  come  to  dance  and  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
He  has  drunk  the  wine;  now  he  dances.  He  said 
he  came  for  that  and  that  only,  so  Ellen's  mother 
does  not  object. 

"  So  stately  his   form  and  so  lovely  her  face " 

(he  is  tall,  she  is  beautiful) 
**  That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace." 

A  "  galliard  "  is  a  spirited  dance  for  two  dancers 
only.     It  is  something  like  a  minuet. 

"  While  her  mother  did  fret  and  her  father  did  fume  " 

(they  did  not  like  it  at  all,  you  see.) 

"  And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 
plume." 

He  was  still  afraid  to  interfere,  but  "  stood  dangling 
his  bonnet  and  plume."     This  **  bonnet "  referred 


46       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

to  the  Scotch  hats  worn  by  men  at  the  time,  which 
usually  had  eagles'  plumes  in  them. 

"  And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  'Twere  better  by 

far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  to  young  Lochinvar.'' 

They  did  not  care,  you  see,  who  married  Ellen. 
They  had  come  for  a  good  time  and  were  probably 
very  much  interested  in  the  unexpected  arrival  of 
this  handsome  young  knight.  They  are  Ellen's 
cousins  and  probably  fond  of  her,  and  perhaps  know 
that  she  is  really  in  love  with  young  Lochinvar. 
Some  of  them  may  even  be  sorry  to  see  her  marry 
**  a  laggard  in  love  and  dastard  in  war,"  and  are 
hoping  that  something  may  happen  that  will  prevent 
it. 

"  One  touch  to  her  hand  and  one  word  in  her  ear 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door,  and  the   charger 
stood  near." 

Now,  before  we  go  out  into  the  Courtyard,  let  us 
go  back  and  act  out  the  scene  in  Netherby  Hall. 
First,  we  have  the  wedding  party,  before  the  arrival 
of  young  Lochinvar :  —  the  pretty,  gay,  young 
"  bridesmaids "  talking  and  laughing  with  the 
"  bridesmen  "  and  '*  brothers  "  ;  Ellen's  father  and 
mother  receiving  their  guests,  the  *'  kinsmen  ''  and 
*'  all  "  ;  Ellen  looking  very  unhappy ;  and  the  prospec- 
tive bridegroom  most  inattentive  to  his  lovely  bride. 
Suddenly  in  the  doorway  appears  the  tall,  straight 
figure  of  young  Lochinvar.  Ellen's  father  strides 
forward  to  meet  him,  ''his  hand  on  his  sword." 
Ellen's  mother  looks  worried  and  annoyed.     Ellen 


Dramatization  47 

looks  excited  and  glad.  Everybody  stops  talking, 
and  all  are  breathlessly  listening  while  young  Lochin- 
var  answers  the  father  and  tells  why  he  has  come. 
He  drinks  the  cup  of  wine  given  him  by  Ellen;  he 
dances  with  her,  always  in  the  dance  moving  nearer 
the  door.  Then  he  asks  her  to  go  with  him,  and 
they  rush  out. 

"  So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung," 

He  springs  in  front  of  her,  you  see.  How  does 
he  swing  her  up  ?  How  does  he  get  on  ?  To  spring 
before  her  is  not  easy.  He  must  do  it  much  more 
carefully  than  in  the  ordinary  way.  Usually,  a  man 
puts  his  left  foot  into  the  stirrup  and  swings  his  right 
foot  over.  In  this  case  we  must  have  the  horse  near 
the  stone  steps  of  Netherby  Hall,  in  order  that  young 
Lochinvar  may  easily  and  quickly  spring  into  the 
saddle. 

''  She   is   won !   we  are   gone,   over  bank,   bush   and 

scaur!  "  (a  barren  place) 
"  They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,  quoth  young 

Lochinvar." 

You  remember  that  the  poem  said  "through  all 
the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best."  He  has 
faith  in  his  steed,  he  knows  his  horse  is  the  best. 
He  knows  "  She  is  won." 

"  There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby 

clan 
Fosters,  Fenwicks  and  Musgraves  they  rode  and  they 

ran. 


48        Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

All  these  are  the  names  of  lofty  families.  The 
Graemes  were  wards  of  the  king.  They  are  all  ter- 
ribly excited,  and  lose  time  because  their  steeds  are 
probably  not  near  and  ready. 

*'  There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee." 

This  place  is  in  the  southeastern  part  of  Scotland. 

"  But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see." 

"  So  daring  in  love  and  so  dauntless  in  war 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  Hke  young  Lochinvar?  " 

This  final  scene  in  the  Courtyard  —  the  mounting 
and  riding  oflf  of  young  Lochinvar  and  Ellen,  and 
the  rushing  about  and  chasing  of  the  Netherby  clan, 
makes  a  splendid  finale  to  the  poem. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  experiments  in  drama- 
tization is  that  of  making  up  a  play.  For  example : 
the  senior  class  wishes  to  give  an  original  class  play 
or  pageant  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of  Shakespeare, 
April  23.  First  must  be  considered  the  possibilities 
and  limitations  of  the  class,  the  age  of  the  pupils, 
the  number  in  the  class,  and  the  other  pupils  in  the 
school  who  can  be  counted  upon  to  assist  in  the 
production.  Suppose  there  are  45  members  in  the 
class,  15  boys  and  30  girls,  the  ages  ranging  from 
15  to  17  years.  The  class  holds  a  council  to  dis- 
cover the  individual  talent.  It  is  found  that  all 
of  the  girls  dance,  and  five  of  the  boys;  two  of  the 
girls  have  been  trained  in  stage  dancing,  all  of  the 
class  can  sing  —  one  boy  especially  well  —  several 
play  on  musical  instruments,  all  can  act.  It  is  also 
ascertained  that  members  of  the  lower  classes  will 
be  glad  to  join  the  senior  class  in  making  the  play 


Dramatization  49 


TJm^ 


a'success.  After  a  discussion,  the  seniors  decide  to 
give  a  pageant,  because  of  the  fact  that  the  class  is 
large  and  their  talents  more  in  line  with  pageant 
work,  and  also,  it  being  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
it  is  decided  that  it  will  be  more  effective  to  give  it 
out-of-doors  in  the  school  grounds. 

A  study  of  the  time  of  William  Shakespeare  fol- 
lows, in  order  to  gather  together  material  for  the 
play:  the  history,  the  customs,  the  sports.  It  is 
discovered  that  in  the  days  of  Shakespeare,  Queen 
Elizabeth  enjoyed  wonderful  pageants  which  were 
planned  to  do  her  honour,  and  that  the  Lord  of  a 
Castle  would  arrange  a  pageant  in  which  his  tenants 
often  took  an  active  part  in  giving  country  weddings, 
dances,  and  tumbling  feats  to  amuse  the  Queen. 
The  Earl  of  Leicester  gave  such  a  pageant  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle  which  lasted  several  days  while  Queen 
Elizabeth  honoured  him  w^ith  her  presence.  This  is 
described  at  length  by  Walter  Scott  in  Kenilworth : 
how  Queen  Elizabeth  arrived  at  Kenilworth  Castle 
at  twilight  of  a  summer  night,  July  9,  1575,  escorted 
by  its  owner,  the  magnificent  Earl  of  Leicester. 
The  Queen  was  mounted  on  a  milk-white  horse  and 
the  Earl  of  Leicester  rode  a  black  steed  ''  which  had 
not  a  single  white  hair  on  his  body."  The  Queen 
was  magnificently  arrayed  and  glittering  with  jewels 
which  scintillated  in  hundreds  of  waxen  torches  held 
by  horsemen.  As  the  cavalcade  approached  the 
gallery-tower,  a  huge  porter  stepped  forward  and 
barred  their  passage,  but  at  sight  of  the  Queen 
resigned  his  keys  and  welcomed  her  to  the  castle. 
Cannon  were  fired  and  bands  of  music  played  as  the 
Queen  approached.     As  she  crossed  the  bridge  a 


50      Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

new  spectacle  was  provided,  for  here  a  raft,  made  to 
resemble  an  island,  floated  down,  and  a  beautiful 
lady  was  discovered  attended  by  nymphs.  The  lady 
addressed  herself  to  the  Queen,  telling  her  she  was 
the  Lady  of  the  Lake  who,  until  now,  had  reigned 
supreme,  but  had  left  her  crystal  palace  in  the  lake 
to  pay  homage  and  duty  to  the  peerless  Elizabeth. 
Fireworks  of  great  magnificence  were  now  dis- 
charged as  the  Queen  entered  the  castle.  During 
her  visit  at  the  castle  sports  of  all  kinds  were  ar- 
ranged for  her  pleasure. 

The  class  decides  to  plan  a  pageant  founded  on 
this  idea.  A  committee  was  formed  to  bring  draw- 
ings and  pictures  of  the  costumes  of  the  period. 
The  name  of  the  pageant  was  discussed  and  voted 
upon,  and  "  A  Day  in  the  Time  of  Queen  Elizabeth  '' 
was  finally  chosen.  Each  member  of  the  class  was 
to  write  a  pageant,  having  always  in  mind  the  class 
and  its  possibilities,  and  hand  it  in  to  the  class 
teacher  during  the  coming  week  without  the  writer^s 
name  attached.  A  committee  of  five  members  and 
the  teacher  was  appointed  to  read  these  and  choose 
from  them  six  of  the  best,  to  be  read  to  the  entire 
class,  and  then  the  best  parts  of  these  six  plays  were 
to  be  taken  to  form  a  whole.  The  writer  chosen  by 
vote  of  the  class,  after  hearing  the  six  plays,  was 
to  take  the  material  and  write  the  final  play.  This 
was  done.     The  pageant  began  in  this  way: 

Scene,  a  grassy  place  near  a  castle. 

To  bright  music  (this  music  to  be  furnished  by 
the  musicians  in  the  class,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
drum  and  brass  instruments)  enter,  in  groups,  the 


Dramatization  5 1 

villagers,  gathering  to  see  the  show;  sellers  of  wares, 
children,  a  few  Puritans  here  and  there,  who, 
by  their  manner,  show  their  disapproval  of  the 
gaiety.  The  costumes  are  varied;  those  selling 
wares  have  trays  fastened  over  their  shoulders  with 
ribbons.  They  approach  the  others,  and  in  panto- 
mime ask  them  to  buy.  Autolycus  enters,  singing 
the  Pedlar's  song  from  ''  Winter's  Tale,''  *'  Lawn  as 
white  as  driven  snow."  (This  song  was  introduced 
especially  for  the  boy  of  the  class  who  sang  so  well.) 
The  vendors  of  wares  join  in  the  chorus  and  sing 
the  song  with  him. 

A  loud  drum  is  heard  and  in  come  the  tumblers 
and  their  group  of  performers.  (This  act  was  intro- 
duced because  the  school  boasted  a  wonderful  gym- 
nasium and  the  boys  did  pyramids  and  feats  of  this 
kind  particularly  well.)  They  wear  coloured  tights 
and  trunks,  carry  strips  of  bright  carpet  which  they 
proceed  to  unroll,  and,  amid  loud  drum  beats,  begin 
their  show  surrounded  now  and  again  by  the  towns- 
people who  vigorously  applaud  each  act.  Seemingly 
they  are  interrupted  by  a  fanfare  of  trumpets,  and  a 
procession  of  heralds  approaches  and  announces  the 
distant  coming  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  crowd  im- 
mediately group  themselves  to  watch  her  arrival. 
From  one  side  comes  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  and 
his  attendants  to  await  the  Queen's  arrival.  The 
heralds  fall  to  the  sides,  holding  back  the  crowds. 
First,  come  more  heralds  and  pages,  then  gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  the  court,  then  the  Queen,  followed  by 
more  attendants.  The  Queen  is  met  by  the  Lord 
of  the  Manor,  who  escorts  her  to  a  pavilion  (ar- 


52       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

ranged  at  one  end  of  the  garden  path),  amid  the 
shouts  of  the  crowd,  to  whom  she  graciously  bows. 
Her  group  then  forms  a  tableau. 

Enter,  in  Irish  costumes,  the  two  girls  who  have 
learned  to  dance  exceptionally  well.  They  give  an 
Irish  dance. 

Meantime,  a  group  has  been  coming  down  the 
path,  headed  by  a  country  maiden  in  white  with 
Elizabethan  short  veil  over  her  hair,  accompanied 
by  her  gallant  bridegroom,  and  a  wedding  proces- 
sion. The  band  plays  a  country  wedding  march. 
Two  or  three  people  from  the  crowd  detach  them- 
selves and  come  up,  offering  gifts  to  the  bride.  The 
procession  forms  into  a  group  and  dances  a  country 
dance. 

Now  all  sing  '^  Over  hill,  over  dale,"  from  "  A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,''  and  two  fairies  enter 
carrying  a  bannerette  on  which  is  inscribed  *'  A  Por- 
tion of  '  Ye  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  by  Master 
Will  Shakespeare."  They  stand  at  centre-back, 
holding  bannerette  during  performance  which  fol- 
lows. Fairies  enter  carrying  branches,  with  which 
they  make  a  bit  of  scenic  effect  like  a  wood.  They 
group  themselves  in  graceful  poses. 

Enter  Puck,  to  singing  of  '*  Over  hill,  over  dale." 
He  dances,  but,  apparently  hearing  a  sound,  he  be- 
comes frightened  and  runs  and  hides. 

Enter  a  fairy,  who  dances,  but  suddenly  seeing 
Puck  peeping  out  at  her  from  behind  a  tree,  she 
runs  away.  Puck  reappears  and  the  fairy  shyly 
returns.  Hearing  some  one  approaching.  Puck  and 
the  fairy  hide,  but  stealthily  watch  the  scene  that 
follows. 


■VI 

1 

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1 

^^'^*^^^^'  "-^^^'^'^  #^^S^^ 

'^  .v-v^-^'-f^^       *^ap^. 

'  ■'     ,#^cf:  i  -:^^S^  1            %"*          '•   ;  ^ 

Si^lHH^Fli^HI^HBI 

Dramatization  53 

Titania  enters  with  her  Httle  Indian  boy,  whom 
she  *'  crowns  with  flowers/'  Oberon  enters  and  de- 
mands the  child,  but  Titania  refuses  to  give  him  up 
and  indignantly  exits,  taking  the  child  with  her. 
The  fairy  follows  her  mistress.  Oberon  beckons 
Puck  to  come  to  him  and  they  exit  talking  in  pan- 
tomime. The  fairies  then  exit,  taking  the  tree 
branches  away  with  them. 

When  the  pantomime  is  over  all  the  fairies  group 
themselves  behind  the  pavilion. 

Next  follows  a  Maypole  dance.  The  band  now 
plays  a  grand  march,  and  all  form  into  procession 
according  to  groups,  led  by  the  Queen  and  the  Court 
group.     After  marching  about  the  paths,  all  exit. 

In  giving  ''  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  "  the 
artisans'  scenes  could  be  included  if  desired.  For 
instance,  beginning  with  the  fairy  scene,  as  here  de- 
scribed, the  scene  next  given  could  be  a  pantomime 
of  the  Lullaby  sung  by  the  fairies  to  Titania,  her 
sleep,  the  coming  of  Oberon  and  his  dropping  the 
juice  from  the  purple  flower  upon  her  sleeping  eyes; 
the  coming  of  the  artisans  and  the  amusing  re- 
hearsal of  their  play;  Nick  Bottom's  exit  to  the 
brake,  where  Puck  transforms  him  by  giving  him 
an  ass's  head;  his  return  and  the  terror  and  flight 
of  his  friends;  the  awakening  of  Titania  and  the 
working  of  the  spell,  followed  by  the  exit  of  Titania 
and  Bottom  with  the  laughing  train  of  fairies; 
Oberon's  and  Puck's  return  and  Oberon's  naughty 
joy  at  Puck's  description,  in  pantomime,  of  Titania's 
plight;  the  return  of  Titania  and  Bottom  attended 
by  Cobweb,  Mote,  Mustardseed  and  Peaseblossom, 
and  their  waiting  upon  Nick  Bottom  at  their  mis- 


54       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

tress's  command ;  the  fairies'  departure,  leaving  the 
sleeping  Titania  and  Bottom,  and  her  awakening 
after  Oberon  squeezes  the  heahng  juice  upon  her 
eyes ;  and  the  reconciHation  of  Oberon  and  Titania. 

A  ''  Winter's  Tale  "  can  be  used  in  the  same  way, 
by  giving  the  shearing  scene  in  pantomime. 

Wonderful  scenes  can  be  arranged  from  Henry 
V.  The  scene  before  Harfleur,  or  the  gorgeous 
scene  of  the  entry  into  London  in  triumph.  This 
could  be  prolonged  by  beginning  the  pantomime  in 
the  London  streets  before  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers, 
and  all  sorts  of  bits  could  be  introduced  in  the  way 
of  street  venders,  tumblers  and  performers  of  all 
kinds,  and  even  pathetic  bits  when  the  soldiers  begin 
to  arrive  and  a  maiden  looks  anxiously  for  her  lover 
as  the  men  march  past,  and  presently  one  soldier 
signifies  to  her  in  pantomime  that  he  will  never 
return; 

Henry  VHI,  of  course,  has  wonderful  possibili- 
ties in  the  feast  scene,  the  court  scene  and  the  corona- 
tion scene. 

Modern  plays  that  are  well  known  can  be  arranged 
in  the  same  way,  and  fairy  tales  can  always  be  used. 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW   TO   WRITE  A   PLAY 

Choosing  a  subject  — Crises  of  life  —  Conflict  —  Construc- 
tion of  framework  —  Charts  of  crises  —  Bluebeard  used 
as  illustration  —  Scenario  —  Development  of  characters 
—  Lines  —  Exposition :  different  types  — "  Planting  "  prop- 
erties and  setting  —  Suspense — "Obligatory  scenes" — 
Action  and  interest. 

The  first  requirement  of  a  successful  play  is  that 
it  must  hold  the  interest  of  an  audience.  Before 
beginning  to  write  a  play,  therefore,  the  first  thing 
to  do  is  to  decide  whether  or  not  your  subject  is 
interesting.  It  may  be  of  intense  interest  to  yoii, 
but  has  it  a  universal  appeal?  Will  other  people 
care  to  spend  twenty  minutes  or  an  hour  or  two 
hours  of  their  time  and  attention  upon  it?  Certain 
great  themes,  of  course,  are  of  supreme  interest  to 
every  one.  Love,  hatred,  jealousy,  ambition, 
patriotism,  and  a  few  others  never  fail  to  win  a  gen- 
eral response,  but  they  have  been  used  so  often  that 
one  is  tempted  to  cast  them  aside  in  scorn  and  hunt 
for  some  new  and  original  subject. 

This  search  for  the  unique  and  unusual  has  led 
playwrights  to  all  sorts  of  strange  themes  for  their 
plays.  A  certain  cult  has  arisen  which  worships  the 
trivial.  No  situation  in  life  is  too  small  and  unim- 
portant for  them.  They  write  dull  and  tragic  dia- 
logues about  such  matters  as  the  burning  of  toast 

55 


56       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

for  breakfast,  or  the  selling  of  a  cow.  In  the  hands 
of  a  master  these  trivialities  could  be  made  matters 
of  supreme  importance  and  significance,  but  in  less 
skilful  hands  small  affairs  remain  small  affairs,  and 
cannot  be  lifted  from  the  sordid  and  commonplace 
to  the  realm  of  the  dramatic.  And,  after  all,  when 
the  trivial  things  are  transformed  into  matters  of  su- 
preme significance,  when  they  do  become  truly  dra- 
matic, they  become  so  only  because  they  are  shown 
in  some  vital  connection  with  one  of  the  few  funda- 
mental emotions  of  life.  Therefore,  there  is  no 
use  in  trying  to  discard  the  old  subjects.  They  are 
few  and  badly  worn,  it  is  true,  but  they  are  the  basis 
of  all  thought  and  action  and  are,  therefore,  of 
interest  to  all  the  human  race. 

Plays  are  unlike  any  other  form  of  literary  ex- 
pression because  they  deal  only  with  the  important 
moments  of  existence,  the  significant  happenings,  the 
crises  of  life.  The  definition  of  a  crisis  is  that  it 
is  "  a  turning  point  in  the  progress  of  an  affair  or  of 
a  series  of  events, —  a  juncture  on  which  depends  a 
transition  from  better  to  worse."  It  is  a  moment  of 
suspense,  a  moment  when  the  action  hesitates,  a  mo- 
ment of  conflict  between  success  and  failure. 

"  Conflict,"  then  is  one  of  the  essential  elements 
of  drama.  All  drama,  in  fact,  is  conflict  in  one  form 
or  another.  The  Greek  tragedies  portrayed  man  in 
conflict  with  relentless  fate:  CEdipus  struggled  in 
vain  to  avoid  committing  the  horrible  deeds  to 
which  he  was  destined  by  the  Gods.  Shakespeare's 
characters  are  shown  in  conflict  with  some  weakness 
of  their  own  personalities.  The  tragic  element  in 
Macbeth  lies  not  in  the  death  of  Duncan,  but  in  the 


How  to  Write  a  Play  57 

fact  that  Macbeth  was  beaten  in  the  fight  with  his 
own  ambition.  In  modern  dramas  the  conflict  Hes 
between  one  personaHty  and  another,  or  between  the 
soul  and  its  environment.  ^'  The  Doll's  House/'  for 
example,  is  concerned  with  Nora's  struggle  to  de- 
velop amid  the  discouraging  influences  of  her  home. 

There  is  another  type  of  story-play  and  adventure 
play,  of  which  "  Peter  Pan "  and  *'  Treasure 
Island  "  are  good  examples.  The  conflict  here  lies 
between  character  and  circumstance.  This  type  of 
play  particularly  must  be  built  up  around  important 
crises  to  which  the  action  leads  clearly  and  logically, 
for  they  are  really  narratives  in  dramatic  form. 

The  logical  development  of  action  is  absolutely 
essential  in  dramatic  construction.  Events  must 
follow  each  other  rapidly  and  in  proper,  consecu- 
tive order.  In  a  play  there  is  no  going  back  and 
saying,  "  Oh,  I  forgot,  this  thing  happened  along 
about  the  first  act."  Every  bit  of  action  must  occur 
at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  place.  Next  to 
an  uninteresting  subject,  nothing  bores  and  annoys 
an  audience  as  much  as  a  good  subject  handled  in  a 
confusing  way.  Your  audience  must  understand 
what  is  happening.  It  must  be  able  to  follow  the 
plot,  step  by  step.  To  tell  any  story  clearly  and 
logically  is  a  far  more  difficult  matter  than  it  would 
appear  to  be.  To  build  up  a  play  clearly  and  log- 
ically it  is  almost  essential  to  draw  up  an  outline, 
diagrams,  and  a  scenario  before  even  considering  the 
lines. 

The  first  step  in  building  this  framework  of  a 
play  is  to  find  out  exactly  what  it  is  about.  Analyse 
the  story,  discover  the  climax  of  the  action,  and  the 


58       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

crises  and  sub-crises  leading  up  to,  and  down  from 
it.  Find  the  high  spots  in  the  plot,  the  '*  sign  posts  " 
that  point  the  way  the  story  is  going.  When  you 
have  found  the  climax  and  the  crises,  then  diagram 
them  in  a  chart  like  a  fever  chart,  indicating  high 
spots  of  tensity  as  you  would  indicate  high  degrees 
of  fever. 

For  example  you  might  be  writing  a  play  about 
the  story  of  Bluebeard.  To  find  the  central  climax 
of  the  plot,  that  point  toward  which  all  rising 
action  leads  and  from  which  it  descends,  ask  this 
question :  "  What  is  the  play  about  ?  "  It  is  about 
a  young  wife  who  opens  a  door  her  husband  forbade 
her  opening.  Roughly,  that  is  the  story ;  therefore, 
that  moment  of  opening  the  door  is  the  climax  of 
the  play.  The  important  steps,  or  sub-crises,  in  the 
development  of  the  plot  are  easily  outlined.  A 
young  bride,  Fatima,  has  been  brought  to  Blue- 


How  to  Write  a  Play  59 

beard's  castle  —  he  is  summoned  to  go  away  —  he 
gives  her  his  keys  with  the  command  that  she  shall 
not  use  a  certain  one  in  opening  a  certain  door  — 
he  goes  away  —  she  is  tempted  by  sister  Anne 
—  she  opens  the  door  and  discovers  headless 
wives  —  the  forbidden  key  is  seen  to  be  stained  with 
blood  —  Bluebeard  unexpectedly  returns  —  demands 
keys  —  threatens  death  —  Anne  watches  for  broth- 
ers —  brothers  enter  —  Bluebeard  killed.  For  a 
one-act  play  it  should  be  charted  in  this  way. 

If  '*  Bluebeard  "  were  to  be  made  into  a  three-act 
play,  however,  each  act  should  be  diagramed  sep- 
arately, after  the  whole  has  been  charted  as  shown 
above.  An  act  is  a  division  of  a  play  which  has  to 
do  with  one  consecutive  part  of  the  action.  It  has 
dramatic  structure  similar  to  that  of  the  whole  play, 
with  crises  and  sub-crises,  rising  and  falling  action. 
It  has  a  theme  of  its  own,  subordinate  to  the  theme 
of  the  whole.  In  analysing  Bluebeard  it  is  seen 
that  there  really  are  three  themes  :  ( i )  The  giving 
of  the  keys,  with  the  command  not  to  use  the  certain 
one.  (2)  The  opening  of  the  door.  (3)  The  re- 
sults of  Fatima's  disobedience.  They  would  be 
charted  in  this  way: 


ACT   I.      THE   KEYS 


6o       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 


ACT   II.      THE  DOOR 


ACT    III.       THE   CONSEQUENCES 

Charts  are  excellent  to  use  in  rehearsing  a  play,  in 
order  to  keep  the  action  at  the  right  tempo  at  impor- 
tant crises.  A  dramatic  director  should  know  the 
play  she  is  rehearsing  so  well  that  the  making  of 
charts  would  be  very  simple.  They  will  also  be 
found  to  be  of  the  greatest  assistance  to  others  who 
may  be  helping  with  the  rehearsals,  by  clarifying  the 
director's  ideas  about  the  value  of  the  different 
scenes. 

After  the  charts  have  been  made,  the  important 
points  in  the  plot  are  clearly  seen.  The  next  thing 
to  do  is  to  make  a  more  detailed  outline  of  the  action, 
putting  in  every  entrance  and  exit  and  indicating  the 
substance  of  the  speeches.  It  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  have  a  clear  plan  of  action  for  every  character. 


How  to  Write  a  Play  6i 

A  detailed  outline,  or  scenario  as  it  is  called, 
will  keep  this  action  straight.  In  making  this 
scenario,  remember  that  every  bit  of  action  must 
have  some  reason  for  being  and  must  be  accounted 
for.  If  a  character  enters  a  room  there  must  be 
some  reason  for  his  entering  it;  if  he  goes  out,  he 
must  go  out  because  he  has  obvious  business  else- 
where,—  not  because  you,  as  the  author,  must  get 
him  off  stage  by  fair  means  or  foul.  Do  not  take 
as  your  example  the  type  of  modern  play  in  which 
ten  or  twelve  neighbours  in  night  garb  appear  sud- 
denly and  casually  in  a  bed-room  at  midnight,  with 
no  apparent  excuse  for  their  being  there  except  that 
they  are  thus  obeying  an  arbitrary  author.  The  au- 
thor must  never  consider  his  own  convenience  in  a 
play,  nor  must  he  ever  accept  chance  as  a  partner. 
Nothing  in  a  play  must  ever  happen  by  chance. 
Everything  must  be  accounted  for.  In  making  out 
the  scenario  of  Bluebeard  it  must  not  be  left  to 
chance  that  the  brothers  appear  at  the  crucial  mo- 
ment to  save  their  sister ;  it  must  be  shown  that  they 
have  been  expected  to  drop  in  and  were  delayed  in 
coming. 

In  making  the  scenario  of  Bluebeard,  it  will  be 
more  convenient  to  consider  it  as  a  one-act  play. 
In  that  case  the  setting  would  be  that  of  a  reception 
hall,  with  several  doors  in  the  walls.  A  stairway 
would  lead  down  to  the  courtyard  below,  and  an- 
other narrow  stair  would  lead  up  to  the  turret 
chamber  from  which  sister  Anne  must  watch. 

The  term  ''  scene,"  as  it  is  used  in  a  scenario, 
applies  to  every  change  of  entrance  or  exit  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  setting  or  scenery. 


62       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 


SCENARIO    FOR    BLUEBEARD 

Scene  i.  Sister  Anne  and  friend  waiting  in  recep- 
tion hall  to  receive  guests  —  Discuss  Fatima's 
wedding  —  friend  dubious  as  to  Bluebeard's 
character  —  hint  of  mystery  in  castle. 

Scene  2.  Messenger  arrives  bringing  news  that 
brothers  have  been  delayed  and  cannot  come  to 
party  until  late. 

Scene  3.  Enter  Fatima  happily  —  disappointed 
about  brothers. 

Scene  4.  Enter  Bluebeard  —  agreeable  and  polite. 

Scene  5.  Enter  courtiers,  etc. —  merrymaking. 

Scene  6.  Enter  messenger  summoning  Bluebeard 
away. 

Scene  7.  Sister  Anne  and  others  go  down  to  ban- 
quet—  Bluebeard  gives  keys  of  castle  to  Fat- 
ima, forbidding  her  to  use  a  certain  one. 

Scene  8.  He  goes  —  accompanied  by  guests. 

Scene  9.  Sister  Anne  and  Fatima  open  doors  — 
Fatima  finds  door  into  whose  lock  the  forbidden 
key  fits  —  Sister  Anne  tempts  her,  she  opens 
door,  sees  headless  wives,  faints  —  Sister  Anne 
closes  door, —  they  discover  blood  stain  on  keys. 

Scene  10.  Bluebeard's  voice  from  below, —  he  has 
forgotten  something  and  returned  —  Fatima 
and  Sister  Anne  scrub  key  —  Bluebeard's  step 
on  stairs  —  Sister  Anne  rushes  up  to  tower  to 
signal  for  help  —  Fatima  conceals  key. 

Scene  ii.  Bluebeard  pleasant  at  first  —  Fatima 
tries  to  hide  terror  —  Bluebeard  demands  keys 
—  sees  one  missing  — threatens  death.  Fatima 
pleads  for  time —  calls  to  Sister  Anne  — ''  Sis- 


How  to  Write  a  Play  63 

ter  Anne,  sister  Anne,  do  you  see  them  coming  " 
etc.     Bluebeard  brandishes  scimeter. 
Scene   12.  Brothers   rush  in  —  fight  —  kill  Blue- 
beard —  all  happy. 

Curtain 

The  development  of  characters  is  the  next  thing 
to  do  after  the  framework  of  the  play  has  been 
constructed.  They  must  be  carefully  thought  out 
and  must  be  as  much  like  real  people  as  it  is  possible 
to  make  them.  Unless  you  are  writing  a  melo- 
drama, your  heroes  and  heroines  must  not  be  the 
personification  of  all  virtue,  and  your  villains  and 
vampires  the  incarnation  of  all  evil.  They  must 
be  human,  with  a  mingling  of  good  and  evil, —  and 
some  of  them  must  be  amusing.  Most  people  have 
some  trait  about  them  that  is  amusing:  inconsist- 
encies of  character,  incongruities,  an  entertaining 
manner  of  speaking, —  something  that  makes  for 
laughter.  Play  characters  are  too  apt  to  be  either 
hopelessly  foolish  or  unbearably  stiff  and  serious. 
Make  them  human.  Remember  that  even  kings  and 
queens  of  history  had  many  of  the  same  interests 
and  instincts  as  have  any  of  our  friends  of  today. 
Queens  were  just  as  much  absorbed  in  whether  or 
not  their  hair  was  becomingly  arranged,  and  kings 
were  just  as  much  annoyed  when  the  beef  was  over- 
done, as  are  any  of  our  neighbours  in  any  modern 
suburb. 

Your  heroes  and  heroines  must  not  be  absolute 
perfection,  but  they  must  be  attractive  enough  to 
win  the  sympathy  of  the  audience.  It  is  fatal  to 
one's  play  if  the  audience  is  attracted  to  the  wrong 


64       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

character.  Your  hero  may  be  weak,  but  he  must 
not  be  so  weak  that  he  inspires  a  feeHng  of  antag- 
onism instead  of  sympathy.  Above  all  things,  the 
audience  must  not  rejoice  in  his  misfortunes  and 
leave  the  theatre  saying,  *'  Well,  it  served  him  right." 
f  No,  the  audience  must  feel  toward  him  as  toward  an 
■  old  friend ;  they  must  see  and  love  his  admirable 
qualities,  realize  his  weaknesses,  but  forgive  them 
through  sympathy  and  understanding,  and  they  must 
ardently  desire  that  at  the  end  of  the  play  he  will 
triumph  over  all  difficulties. 

To  work  out  the  characters,  take  your  scenario 
and  diagrams  and  think  out  just  what  kind  of  peo- 
ple would  be  apt  to  find  themselves  in  the  situations 
of  your  play.  Certain  situations  are  invariably  the 
result  of  certain  human  characteristics.  Work  back- 
ward by  saying :  "  This  thing  happened  to  such  and 
such  a  character.  Why  did  it?  It  happened  be- 
cause she  did  something  that  led  up  to  it;  because 
she  was  a  certain  kind  of  a  person,  or  had  a  cer- 
tain weakness  or  failing  or  virtue."  In  this  way 
you  can  trace  occurrences  back  to  important  char- 
acteristics. When  you  have  one  important  char- 
acteristic of  a  person,  it  is  easy  to  work  out  the 
others.  For  example :  all  the  trouble  in  "  Blue- 
beard "  occurred  because  Fatima  opened  the  forbid- 
den door.  Why  did  she  open  it?  Probably  for 
three  reasons.  ( i )  She  was  curious  to  see  what  was 
behind.  (2)  She  was  tempted  by  her  sister  Anne. 
(3)  She  was  overcome  by  a  mischievous  desire  to 
do  what  she  was  told  not  to  do.  There  you  have 
all  the  elements  necessary  for  the  character  of 
Fatima.     She    was    inquisitive,    rather   too    easily 


How  to  Write  a  Play  65 

swayed  by  other  influences,  and  was  in  reality  little 
more  than  a  spoiled  child.  A  spoiled  child  may 
be  very  charming  and  delightful;  a  heroine  should 
certainly  be  charming  and  delightful.  There  is  the 
character  of  Fatima  all  ready  to  be  embodied  in  the 
play.  In  the  same  way  the  other  characters  can  be 
worked  out  and  made  to  appear  real  and  living 
persons. 

The  lines  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  this  ap- 
pearance of  reality.  Your  characters  must  talk  con- 
sistently. They  must  not  talk  as  you  would  talk, 
but  as  they  would  talk.  A  farmer  does  not  talk 
as  does  a  king,  nor  does  a  young  girl  use  the  same 
words  that  a  sage  would  use.  And  every  one  talks 
in  short,  disconnected  phrases  and  sentences.  Very 
few  people  talk  in  prose,  as  it  is  written.  Listen 
to  people  talking  on  the  streets  or  in  the  trains; 
analyse  their  sentences  and  try  to  punctuate  them. 
You  will  see  that  every-day  speech  does  not  con- 
form to  any  rules  of  composition.  In  old  plays, 
people  talked  on  and  on  for  paragraphs.  In  Cal- 
deron's  '*  Life  is  a  Dream,"  in  fact,  one  character 
talks  without  a  break  for  238  lines.  If  that  were 
done  nowadays  the  audience  would  get  up  and  file 
out  of  the  theatre  in  the  middle  of  the  speech.  Short 
sentences  and  short  speeches  are  the  rule. 

There  are  four  important  kinds  of  lines:  — 

(i)  Plot  lines 

Lines  which  carry  on  the  action. 
(  2  )  A  tmosphere  lines 

Lines  which  establish  the  tone  and  mood  of 

the  play. 


66       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

(3)  Character  lines 

Lines  which  bring  out  the  characteristics 
of  your  people. 

(4)  Laugh  lines 

Take  a  short  passage  from  Macbeth,  for  example, 
which  has  three  of  these  types  of  lines.  It  is  from 
Act  I,  scene  2,  where  Macbeth  and  Banquo  enter. 

Macbeth 
**  So  foul  and  fair  a  day  I  have  not  seen." 

This  is  obviously  a  line  which  produces  an  effect 
of  atmosphere.  It  is  a  bit  of  verbal  scenery,  the 
kind  of  scenery  which  Shakespeare  used  almost  ex- 
clusively but  which  is  not  found  as  successful  today 
as  is  canvas  and  paint. 

Next  Banquo  speaks : 

Banquo 
.  .  ."  What  are  these 
So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire  ? '' 

This  line  and  the  rest  of  the  passage  are  char- 
acter lines,  explaining  and  bringing  out  the  char- 
acters of  the  witches. 

The  following  speeches  of  the  witches  are  plot 
lines : 

First  Witch 
All  hail  Macbeth!     Hail  to  thee,  Thane  of  Glamis! 

Second  Witch 
All  hail  Macbeth!     Hail  to  thee,  Thane  of  Cawdor! 

Third  Witch 
All  hail  Macbeth!     Thou  shalt  be  king  hereafter! 


How  to  Write  a  Play  67 

These  plot  lines  throw  the  interest  forward  and 
are  three  of  the  most  important  lines  in  Macbeth. 

Laugh  lines  are  also  of  great  importance  and 
should  be  placed  carefully  where  they  may  be  of 
greatest  value.  Never  have  a  speech  that  is  very 
amusing  crowd  too  closely  upon  an  important  plot 
line,  for  the  laughter  of  the  audience  will  drown  the 
plot  line  and  so  a  link  in  the  development  of  the 
action  be  lost. 

One  of  the  oldest  tricks  of  play-writing,  however, 
is  to  put  in  a  laugh  line  after  the  pause  which 
follows  a  very  tense  or  pathetic  speech  or  situation. 
The  audience  needs  a  relief  from  tensity  or  pathos ; 
it  needs  to  be  let  down  gently  after  it  has  been 
keyed  up  to  a  pitch  of  emotion.  This  particular 
use  of  the  laugh  line  not  only  affords  temporary  re- 
laxation of  the  emotions  but  also  intensifies,  by 
contrast  of  mood,  whatever  serious  action  imme- 
diately follows.  One  of  the  best  examples  of  this 
is  in  Macbeth  in  the  beginning  of  Act  II,  scene  3. 
The  last  scene  has  just  ended  with  the  murder  of 
Duncan.  The  closing  speech  has  been  one  of  deep 
horror  and  tragedy. 

Macbeth 
'*  To  know  my  deed,  'twere  best  not  know  myself. 
(Knocking  within) 

"  Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking !     I  would  thou 
couldst ! " 

There  the  scene  ends  and  the  next  scene  opens  in 
the  same  place,  with  the  knocking  continuing.  The 
Porter  enters,  and  the  Porter  is  a  comedy  character. 


68       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Porter 

"  Here's  a  knocking  indeed !  If  a  man  were  porter 
of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning  the  key. 
(Knocking  within.)  Knock,  knock,  knock,  knock! 
Who's  there,  i'  the  name  of  Beelzebub?"  etc. 

He  continues,  and  though  his  humour  is  the  broad 
humour  of  Shakespeare's  time,  still  it  supplies  the 
comic  relief,  and  the  contrast  to  the  tragedy  that 
enveloped  the  castle. 

The  laugh  comes  at  odd  times  in  real  life,  and 
that  is  the  basic  reason  for  the  introducing  of  comic 
relief  into  dramas.  When  putting  in  a  laugh  line 
after  a  serious  pause,  be  careful  not  to  detract  the 
attention  of  the  audience  too  far  from  the  main 
issue  of  the  play.  Let  them  laugh,  give  them  their 
moment  of  relaxation  and  then  swing  them  back 
again  into  full  attention  to  the  development  of  the 
plot. 

This  undivided  attention  of  the  audience  is  the 
thing  you  must  work  for  constantly  in  play  con- 
struction. You  must  hold  the  attention  from  the 
rising  to  the  falling  of  the  curtain.  Consequently, 
the  beginning  of  the  play  is  of  great  importance, 
for  the  beginning  supports  all  the  structure  of  the 
whole.  It  is  impossible  to  jump  right  into  the  mid- 
dle of  an  intense  situation  without  some  explana- 
tion of  the  events  which  have  gone  before.  This 
explanation  of  all  that  leads  up  to  the  beginning  of 
a  play  is  called  the  ''  Exposition." 

From  the  earliest  point  of  dramatic  development 
there  have  been  different  methods  of  handling  the 
exposition.     In  Greek  plays  it  was  supplied  by  the 


How  to  Write  a  Play  69 

chorus,  or  the  soliloquy  of  a  servant,  or  possibly  by 
a  god.  In  plays  of  a  few  generations  past,  a  char- 
acter known  as  the  *'  Singing  Chambermaid ''  came 
out  and  dusted  the  parlour,  and  while  dusting  and 
singing  informed  the  audience  all  about  all  the 
family  secrets.  When  she  had  fully  prepared  the 
audience  for  the  plot  that  was  to  follow,  another 
character  entered  the  room  and  the  play  was  really 
on.  Now  the  exposition  is  always  transmitted  to 
the  audience  through  the  medium  of  a  willing  lis- 
tener. The  character  who  is  to  reveal  the  explana- 
tion of  the  events  leading  up  to  the  opening  action 
must  have  some  one  to  talk  to.  He  may  not  talk 
either  directly  to  the  audience  or  to  himself.  Con- 
sequently, some  other  character  must  "  lend  him  an 
ear."  This  character  may  be  a  policeman  who  must 
be  informed  of  all  the  details  of  a  crime,  or  an 
elderly  clergyman,  doctor  or  lawyer  who  must  be 
consulted  about  family  difficulties.  Usually,  how- 
ever, the  willing  listener  is  some  confidential  friend, 
just  returned  from  Africa,  perhaps,  or  from  driving 
an  ambulance  in  France. 

The  exposition  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  the 
servants  of  the  Capulets  and  the  Montagues  meet, 
is  almost  perfect  in  the  rapidity  with  which  the 
audience  is  introduced  to  the  situation  and  the 
theme. 

In  writing  the  exposition  for  ''  Bluebeard,''  for 
example,  the  important  points  to  be  brought  out  are 
these : 

(i)   Bluebeard  has  married  a  young  wife. 
(2)   He  has  recently  brought  her  to  his  castle. 


70       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

(3)  There  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  perfection  of 
his  character. 

(4)  There  is  some  mystery  connected  with  the 
castle. 

(5)  Guests  are  expected  and  merrymaking  is 
about  to  take  place. 

(6)  Fatima's  brothers,  expected  to  the  merry- 
making, have  been  delayed  but  will  come 
later  in  the  day. 


If  it  were  a  Greek  play  some  old,  bent  retainer 
ould  come  out  into  the  ce  ' 

declaim  something  like  this : 


would  come  out  into  the  centre  of  the  stage  and 


"  Into  this  ill-omened  castle  Bluebeard  hath  led  his 

maiden, 
His  young  wife  fair, 

Now  come  the  guests,  with  gifts  of  welcome  laden; 
But  lo,  a  pair 

Is  late  —  her  brothers  —  may  they  haste  their  riding, 
Spurring  their  steeds,  or  they  will  meet  some  tiding 
Of  black  despair.'' 

After  that,  in  would  come  Fatima  and  Bluebeard, 
and  the  play  would  be  in  full  swing.  Or,  if  this 
were  a  play  of  a  few  generations  past,  the  ''  Singing 
Chambermaid ''  would  enter  the  hall,  arrayed  in  be- 
witching black  dress  and  white  apron,  and  proceed 
to  talk  to  herself  while  she  dusted:  — 

**  I  must  hurry  and  get  through  with  my  dusting 
before  the  new  mistress  comes  down  and  the  guests 
arrive.  Oh,  the  poor  young  thing !  —  coming  to 
this  gloomy  place;  alas!  no  good  will  come  of  it. 
(She  dusts  and  hums.)     And  every  one  saying  such 


How  to  Write  a  Play  71 

terrible  things  about  the  master.  (She  hums,  and 
picks  up  a  letter  from  desk.)  I  suppose  I  shouldn't 
read  this,  but  Til  just  peep.     (Reading.) 

'  My  dear  sister : 

*  We  have  been  delayed  and  cannot  come  until 
late  this  afternoon.     Expect  us  then  for  dinner. 

Your  affectionate 
Brothers.' '' 

Then  Fatima  would  enter,  the  maid  quietly  put 
down  the  letter  just  in  time  to  escape  notice,  and, 
the  exposition  being  over,  the  play  would  proceed. 

In  a  thoroughly  modern  play,  sister  Anne  and  a 
friend  just  back  from  nursing  at  the  front  would 
enter  the  hall. 

Sister  Anne 

Tm  so  glad  you  came  early,  dear,  before  the  other 
guests.     I've  been  dying  to  tell  you  all  about  it  — 

Friend 
And  I'm  just  dying  to  hear  —  wasn't  it  very  sudden  ? 

Sister  Anne 
Yes;  but  you  know  Fatima  just  will  have  her  own 
way,  and  Bluebeard,  of  course,  when  he  makes  up  his 
mind  about  a  thing  —  well,  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 

Friend 
(drily) 
Yes,  so  I  imagined.     Then  all  those  stories  about 
him  weren't  true? 

Sister  Anne 
(shrugging  her  shoulders) 
Who  can  tell  —  anyway,  he's  very  rich,  and  it's  a 
fine  castle. 


72       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Friend 
(shuddering) 
Yes,  but  gloomy.     Ugh !     It  almost  seems  — 
(Telephone  rings;  Anne  answers  it.) 
Anne 
Hello,    hello,  —  yes,    it's    Anne.     What?  —  youVe 
had  a  blow-out?  —  too  bad  —  well,  get  here  as  soon 
as  you  can.     Fatima  wants  you  specially.     Good-bye. 
(To    friend.)     It's   my   brothers, —  they've   been    de- 
layed. 

(Enter  Fatima,  and  the  action  goes  on.) 

The  greatest  difference  between  the  old  and  the 
new  type  of  exposition  is  that  now  the  soliloquy  is 
prohibited.  It  used  to  be  an  easy  matter  to  get  any 
thought  "  across,"  when  the  actor  could  address  the 
audience  directly.  He  could  stand  alone  on  the 
stage  and  reveal  the  inmost  workings  of  his  mind, 
his  attitude  toward  life,  religion  and  eternity.  The 
audience  quickly  saw  just  how  he  stood  in  relation  to 
all  the  other  characters,  and  knew  just  what  his  line 
of  action  was  to  be.  It  was  very  simple.  Now  it 
is  much  harder  for  a  character  to  take  the  audience 
into  his  confidence,  for  the  soliloquy  is  banished  ab- 
solutely from  the  play. 

The  "  aside  "  also  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  A  hero 
may  no  longer  stride  upon  the  stage,  greet  the  villain 
with  polite  words  and,  while  shaking  hands,  declare 
passionately  over  his  shoulder  to  the  audience :  — 
**  Ah,  the  miscreant !  —  he  means  to  get  my  beloved, 
but  I  will  foil  him." 

Every  important  point  in  your  play  must  be  em- 
phasized and  re-emphasized.     Not  only  the  impor- 


How  to  Write  a  Play  73 

tant  lines,  but  also  important  properties  or  part  of 
the  stage  setting  must  be  forced  upon  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  audience.  If  there  is  a  certain  *'  prop- 
erty ''  upon  which  the  action  of  the  play  depends, 
you  must  "  plant ''  that  property  so  that  the  audience 
may  become  accustomed  to  it  from  the  beginning  of 
the  action.  In  '*  Bluebeard''  the  play  centres  about 
a  key  and  a  door.  It  would  make  a  bad  interruption 
in  the  attention  of  the  audience  if,  in  the  middle  of 
the  play,  Bluebeard  should  produce  his  keys  for  the 
first  time.  Every  one  would  crane  his  head  and 
remark  to  his  neighbour, — "  Oh,  there  are  the  keys. 
Which  is  the  bad  one  —  that  long  one  ?  See,  there 
it  is."  It  would  break  the  tension  of  the  moment 
in  which  the  mind  of  the  audience  should  be  fol- 
lowing closely  the  action  of  the  play.  To  avoid 
this,  Bluebeard  should  wear  his  keys  on  his  sash 
from  the  rising  of  the  curtain.  They  should  jingle 
as  he  walks,  and  some  mention  should  be  made  of 
them  by  some  character  early  in  the  action.  In  this 
way  the  audience  would  become  accustomed  to  them 
gradually  and  realize  that  they  are  an  integral  part 
of  the  play.  An  idea  gets  across  to  an  audience 
slowly,  and  so  must  be  repeated  and  repeated  in 
different  ways.  Another  example  in  "  planting  "  a 
property  or  bit  of  scenery  can  be  seen  by  working 
out  the  problem  of  proper  emphasis  of  the  mys- 
terious door  in  "  Bluebeard.''  The  audience  must  be 
made  to  believe  that  that  door  is  mysterious,  that 
there  is  something  strange  and  evil  about  it.  Of 
course,  the  characters  can  talk  about  it  with  fear 
and  trembling;  but  talking  does  not,  after  all,  get 
an  idea   "  across "   as   effectively  as   does  action. 


74       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

"  Seeing  is  believing,"  and  the  audience  must  see 
that  there  is  something  wrong  about  that  door.  A 
curious,  ghastly  light  might  be  thrown  upon  it,  or 
it  might  have  a  dark  brown  stain  on  one  of  the 
panels.  At  any  rate,  people  in  passing  it  could  edge 
away,  as  if  in  fear.  VVhen  once  the  audience  realizes 
that  a  line  or  property  or  bit  of  setting  is  important, 
they  begin  to  wonder  why,  they  begin  to  expect  some- 
thing, and  this  expectancy  heightens  the  suspense. 

Suspense  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  a  successful  play. 
Carry  the  audience  up  to  a  crisis  by  a  clear  line  of 
action,  and  then  tease  them  by  making  them  wonder 
which  way  the  action  will  turn  next.  Expectancy 
is  one  of  the  fundamental  elements  of  suspense,  and 
one  of  the  best  means  of  stimulating  expectancy  is 
through  an  "  Obligatory  Scene." 

An  obligatory  scene  is  a  scene  which  the  author 
promises  the  audience.  It  is  a  scene  which  is 
prophesied  by  some  speech  or  action  earlier  in  the 
play.  The  entrance  of  the  brothers  in  **  Bluebeard  '' 
is  an  Obligatory  Scene  because  it  has  been  brought 
out  that  they  will  come.  Therefore,  all  through  the 
part  of  the  action  where  Bluebeard  is  threatening 
to  kill  Fatima,  and  Fatima  is  crying  to  sister  Anne 
— '*  Do  you  see  anything,  do  you  see  anything?  " — 
the  audience  knows  that  the  brothers  ought  to  be 
there, —  they  expect  them,  and  yet  they  may  arrive 
too  late. 

Volumes,  of  course,  have  been  written  upon  the 
art  and  technique  of  writing  a  play.  The  two  most 
important  things  to  remember,  however,  are  to  have 
your  action  move  quickly,  clearly  and  logically,  and 
to  have  it  interesting. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PROCESS   OF    PRODUCTION 

The  choice  of  a  play — Preliminary  rehearsals  —  Behind  the 
production  —  Business  Committee  —  Stage  Manager  — 
Lights  —  Costumes  —  Make-up  —  Properties. 

The  choice  of  a  play  is  the  first  step  to  take 
toward  the  production  of  a  play.  Its  value  to  the 
players  and  to  the  audience  is  its  first  aspect  to  be 
considered;  and  to  be  of  any  value  it  must  first 
possess  a  quality  of  entertaining,  and  of  holding  in- 
terest. Entertainment  does  not  necessarily  mean 
amusement,  but  diversion.  No  one  would  say, 
'*  the  first  quality  your  play  must  possess  is  that  of 
humorous  appeal " ;  but  it  must  have  a  certain  hu- 
man appeal  that  holds  the  attention,  and  does  not 
bore  either  audience  or  players.  There  are  two  un- 
fortunate theories  in  regard  to  the  choice  of  amateur 
plays;  one  held  by  most  schools,  and  the  other,  by 
most  small  amateur  companies.  The  schools  con- 
sider the  drama  only  as  a  vehicle  for  educational 
purposes. 

They  hitch  their  wagon  to  a  star  and  go  shooting 
wildly  off  into  dramatic  realms,  far,  far  above  the 
heads  of  their  unfortunate  pupils.  They  wish  to 
educate  the  taste,  to  elevate  the  masses.  What  is 
better,  they  ask,  for  such  purposes,  than  to  have 
their  pupils   act   the   wonderful   inspiring   age-old 

75 


76       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Greek  plays  —  or  perhaps  the  Shakespearean  trag- 
edies? Unfortunately  this  theory  of  '*  only  the 
best ''  often  works  badly;  for  the  pupils,  totally  fail- 
ing to  understand  the  beauty  of  the  classics,  are  apt 
to  be  bored  and  wearied ;  and  ever  after  hold  the  old 
Greeks  in  supreme  contempt. 

The  theory  held  by  many  amateur  companies  is 
that  they  are  the  chosen  of  God  to  present  Truth  to 
the  world;  Truth  in  some  new  and  strange  and 
shocking  form.  They  revel  in  plays  that  are  strong 
and  passionate  and  sombre.  Russian  gloom  is  to 
them  a  godsend.  The  slices  of  life  they  choose  to 
portray  are  composed  largely  of  elements  resembling 
a  mixture  of  soggy  dough,  vinegar,  long  over-ripe 
fruit  —  with  a  little  gunpowder  sauce  on  the  side. 

No  one  would  ban  the  presentation  of  Truth,  but 
it  should  be  remembered  that  artistic  power  is  re- 
quired to  present  ugly  truths,  or  they  degenerate  into 
absurd  and  unconvincing  melodrama. 

This  is  not  a  plea  for  the  adoption  of  the  vaude- 
ville type  of  performance  by  all  schools  and  dra- 
matic associations ;  but  it  is  a  plea  for  the  adoption 
of  plays  that  are  somewhere  near  the  mental  and 
emotional  understanding  of  your  players.  The  play 
is  a  failure,  as  far  as  your  players  are  concerned  if 
they  have  not  the  maturity  to  grasp  it  mentally;  it 
is  a  failure,  as  far  as  the  audience  is  concerned  if 
the  players  have  not  the  power  to  portray  it  emotion- 
ally. 

Moral  and  educational  values  must,  however,  also 
be  taken  into  serious  consideration;  and  the  play 
chosen  must  have  some  reason  for  being.  There 
must  be  something  in  it  that  repays  study  and  effort. 


Process  of  Production  77 

It  must  be  a  true  interpretation  of  life,  or  a  convinc- 
ing portrayal  of  fantasy.  The  characters  in  it  must 
be  real  people,  with  reed  emotions ;  and  they  must  say 
real  things,  in  lines  that  are  worth  learning  by  heart. 
It  should  have  a  plausible  plot,  well  developed,  with 
good  dramatic  situations,  moments  of  pathos,  or 
tragedy,  all  intermingled  with  humour.  Do  not  be 
afraid  of  humour:  players  and  audience  respond  to 
it  with  gratifying  appreciation. 

Practical  aspects  must  also  be  considered:  the 
number  and  type  of  characters  required,  and  the 
necessary  costumes,  scenery  and  properties. 

If  you  are  choosing  a  play  for  a  school  it  is  ad- 
visable to  have  a  good  many  characters :  a  few  prin- 
cipals, and  a  number  of  non-speaking  characters, 
such  as  fairies,  sailors,  soldiers,  or  villagers.  A 
large  cast  is,  however,  very  difficult  to  handle,  for  the 
players  will  be  absent,  and  late  to  rehearsals,  and  the 
more  people  there  are,  the  greater  is  the  confusion. 
If  there  are  few  characters  in  your  play,  and  many 
people  who  desire  parts,  then  have  a  double  cast. 
The  members  of  the  second  cast  serve  as  under- 
studies for  the  first,  and  if  more  than  one  perform- 
ance of  the  play  is  given,  they  must  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  playing  before  the  public.  This  double 
cast  arrangement  is  excellent  for  a  disciplinary  meas- 
ure, for  if  any  member  of  the  first  cast  disobeys  re- 
hearsal rules,  or  is  inattentive  or  uninterested,  the 
understudy  immediately  takes  his  place. 

Avoid  plays  with  star  parts,  particularly  when 
working  with  children.  It  is  extremely  bad  for  any 
child  to  feel  himself  the  centre  of  the  spot  light,  and 
besides  this  there  are  very  few  amateur  players  who 


78       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

can  successfully  take  a  star  part.  They  seldom 
know  enough  of  stage  technique  to  preserve  their 
energy  for  special  scenes  and  so  keep  the  rest  of 
the  performance  from  being  dull.  This  is  the  only 
thing  that  saves  a  star  part  from  being  monotonous 
and  so  deadening  a  play.  If  a  star  part  is  unavoid- 
able, however,  build  it  up  as  well  as  possible,  and 
place  great  emphasis  upon  the  importance  of  all  the 
smaller  parts. 

The  costumes,  scenery  and  properties  demanded 
may  bar  many  plays  which  would  otherwise  be 
possible. 

Many  require  gorgeous  costuming  that  no  ama- 
teur company's  exchequer  can  afford;  and  again 
many  demand  such  things  as  marble  palaces,  moun- 
tains of  ice  or  enchanted  forests;  and  small  prop- 
erties in  such  profusion  that  any  professional  would 
be  sorely  put  to  it  to  supply  the  lists. 

The  physical  characteristics  of  your  stage  must 
have  some  influence  in  your  choice  of  a  play.  If 
your  stage  is  small,  as  it  probably  is,  it  may  not  be 
possible  to  give  a  play  with  many  **  supes  "  or  many 
dances.  Or  your  text  may  demand  more  exits  and 
entrances  than  your  stage  and  scenery  provide. 

PRELIMINARY  REHEARSALS 

The  first  rehearsal,  after  the  play  has  finally  been 
chosen,  should  be  devoted  to  a  reading  by  the  direc- 
tor, and  a  general  discussion.  The  story  of  the 
play  should  first  be  told  and  an  explanation  made 
of  the  theme  and  character  development.  Special 
emphasis  should  be  laid  on  the  small  parts,  and 


Process  of  Production  79" 

their  relation  to  the  plot  as  a  whole.     In  this  re- 
hearsal there  should  be  no  stage  business. 

At  the  second  rehearsal  there  should  be  a  round 
and  round  reading  of  the  play.  This  arouses  the 
interest  of  the  players  and  gives  the  director  an 
idea  of  their  ability  and  intellectual  grasp  of  the 
situations.  Special  attention  should  be  paid  to  pro- 
nunciation, and  an  intelligent  reading  of  the  lines, 
with  correct  punctuation.  The  meaning  of  impor- 
tant lines  may  be  entirely  changed  by  the  use  of  the 
wrong  punctuation,  or  by  some  absurd  mistake  in 
the  typing.  All  mistakes  of  thislcind  should  be  cor- 
rected early  in  the  study  of  the  play,  or  they  will 
become  fixed  in  the  player's  mind,  and  remain  stum- 
bling blocks  throughout  all  the  rehearsals. 

An  instance  of  this  sort  occurred  in  a  play  in 
which  there  was  this  line  — *'  This  week-old  crust 
of  bread  is  all  the  food  I  have  here  in  the  house.'' 
Either  the  hyphen  in  "  week-old  "  was  omitted  in 
typing,  or  the  girl  who  spoke  the  line  failed  abso- 
lutely to  grasp  its  meaning,  for  ever  after  she  rang  all 
conceivable  and  inconceivable  changes  upon  that 
phrase.  She  would  say,  "  this  week,  old  crust  of 
bread  is  all  the  food,"  or  changing  the  spelling, 
"  this  weak,  old,  crust  of  bread."  The  misunder- 
standing slipped  the  attention  of  the  director  in  the 
early  rehearsals  and,  therefore,  was  always  a  spot 
of  trouble.  ^ 

At  the  third  rehearsal  the  parts  should  be  as-  /"^ 
signed.     In  educational  dramatics  the  emphasis  in 
regard  to  a  play  is  placed  on  its  value  to  the  players : 
in  professional  dramatics  the  emphasis  is  placed  on 
its  value  to  the  audience.     Consider  upon  which 


8o       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

group  you  are  placing  the  emphasis  of  value  and 
then  cast  your  parts  accordingly.  If  you  are  work- 
ing with  young  children  and  the  purpose  of  your 
play  is  merely  to  develop  personality,  or  teach  the 
players  some  lesson,  then  cast  them  for  the  parts 
which  will  best  bring  out  the  characteristics  you  want 
to  encourage.  If  you  are  counting  upon  an  en- 
thusiastic audience,  or  a  financial  success,  then  give 
the  part  to  the  player  who  will  play  it  best. 

Do  not  give  two  parts  to  one  player  unless  it  is 
absolutely  necessary.  It  is  extremely  difficult  to 
change  costume  and  make  up  while  the  performance 
is  going  on ;  and  moreover,  after  having  played  one 
character  it  is  not  easy  to  get  into  the  feeling  of 
another  merely  by  the  change  of  garments  and  the 
addition  of  grease  paint. 

The  regular  rehearsals  begin  after  the  parts  have 
been  cast.  Sometimes  the  director  does  the  coach- 
ing, but  when  there  is  a  separate  coach  the  director 
turns  the  whole  business  of  rehearsals  over  to  him, 
withdraws  from  all  that  part  of  the  responsibility, 
and  turns  her  attention  to  the  practical  details  of 
Production. 

BEHIND  THE   PRODUCTION 

'*  The  Production  of  a  play  "  is  a  phrase  which 
means  to  the  public  at  large  the  presentation  of  a 
performance,  the  acting  and  speaking  of  certain 
lines  upon  the  stage.  They  watch  the  unfolding  of 
a  story,  the  interpretation  of  some  "  slice  of  life." 

The  audience  sees  the  action  move  smoothly  and 
swiftly,  and  they  must  not  hear  the  wheels  of  the 
mechanism  go  round,  nor  must  they  be  aware  of 


Process  of  Production  8 1 

the  presence  of  the  deus  ex  machina.  But  behind  it 
all  is  the  director  who  creates  this  illusion  of  reality 
from  a  mad  medley  of  incongruous  elements.  Her 
materials  are  myriad :  canvas  and  paints,  lights,  fur- 
niture, costumes,  dramatic  crises,  hammers  and  tacks, 
and  innumerable  and  different  and  difficult  person- 
alities. All  must  be  handled  adroitly  and  tactfully 
and  fitted  together  into  their  proper  places  to  work 
in  perfect  accord.  The  fitting  and  planning  and 
managing  is  the  responsibility  of  the  director,  but 
no  one  person  should  attempt  to  carry  through  the 
work  alone.  The  director  holds  all  authority  and 
power,  but  under  her  should  be  a  competent  work- 
ing staff  with  definite  duties  and  responsibilities. 

The  staff  should  consist  of  the  managers  and 
sub-managers  of  four  committees;  business,  stage, 
costumes,  and  properties.  The  workers  on  these 
committees  should  be  carefully  chosen  as  being  best 
fitted  to  fulfil  their  several  responsibilities.  The  busi- 
ness manager  must  be  clear  headed,  trustworthy  and 
exact,  with  some  knowledge  of  mathematics.  The 
stage  manager  should  possess  some  executive  ability 
and  artistic  sense.  The  costume  manager  should  be 
a  girl  who  understands  the  making  of  clothes  and 
has  an  appreciation  of  colour  values.  The  prop- 
erty manager  must  have  ingenuity  and  skill  at  man- 
ual, constructive  work. 

THE  BUSINESS  COMMITTEE 

The  Business  Manager  attends  to  the  budget,  ex- 
penses, advertising,  tickets  and  programs,  and 
everything  in  *'  front  of  the  house."  Before  any 
work  on  scenery,  costumes  or  property  can  be  be- 


82       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

gun,  the  Business  Manager  must  find  out  approxi- 
mately how  much  money  there  is  to  be  expended, 
and  make  a  preliminary  budget.  It  is  advisable  to 
realize  that  the  final  cost  will  probably  be  exactly 
double  the  amount  expected.  There  are  two 
methods  of  conducting  this  business  side  of  the  pro- 
duction. One  way  is  to  give  the  Business  Man- 
ager an  order  book,  and  allow  nothing  to  be  bought 
for  the  play  without  a  written  order,  signed  by  his 
name.  The  other  way  is  to  give  certain  sums  to 
the  Stage  Manager,  the  Costume  Manager,  and  the 
Property  Manager.  This  they  use  for  their  neces- 
sary expenses,  and  for  which  they  account  to  the 
Business  Manager. 

He  attends  also  to  all  advertising  and  publicity. 
The  best  results  are  obtained  by  advertising  in  the 
papers;  but  if  that  is  too  expensive,  have  leaflets 
printed  and  send  them  to  all  the  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances of  your  cast.  Follow-up  post  cards 
bring  good  returns,  particularly  if  sent  out  just  a 
few  days  before  the  performance.  Large  posters 
and  cards  in  store  windows  are  one  of  the  best  means 
of  advertising. 

The  Business  Manager  arranges  for  tickets  and 
programs,  and  attends  to  the  payment  of  all  bills. 

In  addition  to  these  duties  he  is  responsible  for 
everything  in  "  front  of  the  house  " ;  cloak  rooms, 
drinking  water,  the  seating  of  the  audience,  and  the 
ushers. 

STAGE  MANAGER 

The  Stage  Manager,  with  his  committee,  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  scenery,  the  setting,  and  the  stage 


Process  of  Production  83 

proper.  If  possible  he  should  help  the  director  plan 
the  scenes,  and  after  they  are  planned,  assist  in  their 
construction.  He  sees  that  the  stage  is  kept  in  good 
condition,  and  attends  to  the  shifting  of  the  scenes 
between  the  acts  of  the  rehearsals  and  the  perform- 
ance. He  should  appoint  one  member  of  his  com- 
mittee as  Manager  of  the  lights ;  and  one  or  two  to 
have  charge  of  the  curtain. 

The  **  New  Movement  of  the  Theatre "  is  to- 
ward simplification  of  the  whole  problem  of  setting 
and  scenery.  Gordon  Craig  and  Max  Reinhardt 
have  set  a  standard  which  should  be  followed  by 
every  one  interested  in  the  stage.  They  insist  upon 
the  elimination  of  all  unnecessary,  cluttery  detail  of 
setting,  and  place  great  emphasis  upon  preservation 
of  the  spirit  and  atmosphere  of  the  play.  ''  Imita- 
tion''  was  the  keynote  of  the  old  style  of  stage 
craft,  while  that  of  today  is  "  illusion." 

It  is  impossible  to  reproduce  a  forest  upon  a  stage 
and  about  as  difficult  to  make  massive  castle  walls 
of  great  grey  granite.  Modern  producers  realize 
that  the  audience  is  distracted  by  the  old  style  of 
stage  setting.  A  canvas  forest  with  tree  trunks 
that  tremble  in  every  draught,  and  a  myriad  leaves 
cut  out  and  pasted  on  chicken  wire,  dropping  from 
the  flies,  is  not  a  convincing  woodland  glade.  The 
eye  of  the  audience  fastens  upon  the  wavering  trunks 
and  leaves,  and  the  mind,  following  the  eye,  won- 
ders how  they  were  made,  and  why  a  stage  is  such 
a  strongly  draughty  place.  Or  perhaps  the  audience 
begins  subconsciously  to  count  the  leaves.  Or,  if 
a  realistic  castle  is  represented,  with  walls  blocked 
out  with  black  and  white  lines,  the  audience  will 


84      Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

probably  count  the  number  of  blocks,  and  wonder 
idly  about  the  colour  they  are  painted,  paying  only 
half  attention  to  the  progress  of  the  play. 

A  smooth,  plain  surface,  however,  does  not  catch 
the  eye  and  drag  the  attention  away  from  the  action. 

A  forest  may  be  suggested  by  using  curtains  of 
dark  green  and  brown  cambric  sewed  in  alternate 
strips ;  or  heavy  green  denim  stenciled  in  brown. 

Castle  walls  may  be  made  of  screens  covered  with 
dark  grey  cambric.  House  screens  are  apt  to  be 
too  low  for  practical  use,  but  higher  and  larger 
screens  may  be  built  the  desired  size  from  a  second 
grade  of  lumber  that  will  not  be  very  expensive. 
The  hinges  may  be  made  of  strips  of  leather,  if  the 
cost  of  metal  hinges  is  too  great. 

If  a  hedge  scene  is  desired,  and  the  plain  screens 
are  not  "  realistic  "  enough,  it  is  possible  to  fling 
vines  over  them,  or  mass  bushes  at  the  base.  It  is 
wise  to  remember  that  lines  of  vines  extending 
downward  over  a  wall  give  an  impression  of  age, 
while  bushes  or  small  trees  pointing  up  from  its  base 
suggest  youth. 

Screens  or  curtains  may  be  made  of  the  cheaper 
materials  such  as  cheesecloth,  muslin,  cambric  and 
canton  flannel,  painted  with  kalsomining  or  dyed 
with  diamond  or  colite  dyes. 

In  interior  scenes,  have  as  little  furniture  as  possi- 
ble, and  as  few  unnecessary  articles.  Atmosphere 
is  not  achieved  by  the  number,  but  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  details  of  the  setting. 

After  the  scenery  has  been  constructed,  the  Stage 
Manager  and  his  committee  must  see  that  it  is  kept 
in  order.     If  it  is  torn,  he  must  have  it  mended,  or 


Process  of  Production  85 

if  the  paint  comes  off,  he  must  touch  it  up.  He  must 
have  a  supply  of  tacks,  hammers  and  tack  pullers 
available,  and  must  see  that  they  are  not  taken  away 
from  their  proper  places  by  members  of  other  com- 
mittees. 

The  third  and  very  important  duty  of  the  Stage 
Manager  is  to  oversee  the  shifting  of  the  scenes. 
For  this  he  must  have  a  regular  corps  of  stage 
hands  and  assistants,  each  v^ith  his  assigned  place 
and  duty.  The  minute  the  first  curtain  is  rung 
down  between  the  acts  at  a  performance  all  the 
players  are  fired  with  a  wild  desire  to  help  change 
scenes,  and  so  flock  out  onto  the  stage  in  a  body. 
There  must,  consequently,  be  an  absolute  rule  keep- 
ing them  off,  and  allowing  no  one  on  but  the  Di- 
rector, Stage  Manager,  Property  Man  and  scene 
shifters.  Systematize  the  scene  shifting  and  have 
those  who  are  doing  it  communicate  together  by 
signals.  When  organized  properly,  scene  shifting 
can  be  accomplished  easily  and  swiftly.  There  is 
no  excuse  for  the  interminable  waits,  and  wild 
scramble  and  confusion  that  take  place  behind  the 
scenes  at  most  amateur  performances. 

The  Lights  Manager  has  stepped  into  new  prom- 
inence during  this  New  Movement  of  the  Theatre. 
Formerly,  any  stage  hand  capable  of  turning  a 
switch  held  this  position.  Now,  however,  he  is  an 
important  member  of  the  working  staff,  for  mod- 
ern plays  rely  greatly  on  the  lighting  for  artistic 
effects. 

This  whole  problem  of  lighting  of  amateur  plays 
is  a  difficult  one,  because  so  few  small  stages  have 
as  yet  any  proper  lighting  equipment.     There  are, 


86       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

however,  a  few  suggestions  that  may  be  carried 
out  easily  and  will  help  somewhat  in  solving  these 
difficulties. 

If  you  must  play  in  an  auditorium  where  there 
are  merely  overhead  or  wall  fixtures,  soften  the 
light  with  coloured  silks  fastened  in  front  of  the 
bulbs;  or  strengthen  it  by  putting  tin  reflectors  be- 
hind. If  you  use  coloured  silks,  be  very  careful  that 
they  do  not  get  afire  from  the  heat  of  the  bulbs. 
Sometimes  it  is  possible  to  light  the  stage  by  using 
old  fashioned  acetylene  automobile  lamps,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  hall.  Cover  these  with  coloured 
silks  to  soften  the  glare.  There  will  be  heavy  shad- 
ows to  guard  against,  if  you  light  in  this  way. 

The  best  amateur  lighting  equipment  is  that  of 
overhead  lights,  side  lights  and  spot  light,  but  this 
is  seldom  found.  Coloured  silks  or  coloured  gela- 
tine disks  are  also  used  with  these.  Footlights 
are  being  eliminated  whenever  possible,  as  they 
throw  an  unnatural  glare  on  the  faces  of  the  actors. 

The  Lights  Manager  must  write  down  all  cues 
for  dimming,  changing  and  putting  out  his  lights; 
post  the  paper  by  the  switchboard,  and  be  extremely 
careful  to  come  in  on  time.  In  an  amateur  play 
given  recently  the  king  and  queen  were  looking 
out  of  a  casement  window. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  come  back  ?  "  said  the  King, 
which  was  the  cue  for  dimming  the  light.  The 
Manager  missed  it. 

"  It's  getting  late,"  said  the  Queen,  and  still  no 
change  of  light. 

"  Yes,  see,  it's  growing  dusk,  the  sun  is  almost 
set,"  answered  the  king,  with  emphasis  to  arouse 


Process  of  Production  ,87 

the  Lights  Manager.  It  did  arouse  him,  and  the 
sun  set  with  such  speed  that  the  audience  laughed  — 
and  spoiled  the  serious  tone  of  the  scene.  Few 
slips  on  the  stage  amuse  an  audience  as  much  as 
obvious  mistakes  in  the  lighting. 

The  management  of  the  curtain  is  also  an  im- 
portant factor  in  the  mechanical  smoothness  of  a 
production.  Whoever  draws  the  curtain  must  have 
his  cues  posted,  as  are  the  Lights'  cues,  and  must 
be  informed  about  curtain  calls.  He  should  pull 
the  curtain  down  promptly  when  the  time  comes, 
and  never  leave  the  players  standing  in  awkward 
uncertainty,  longing  for  the  moment  of  release  from 
their  tableaux. 

To  assure  the  smoothness  of  all  these  details,  it 
is  advisable  to  have  a  lights  and  scene  rehearsal 
before  the  dress  rehearsal.  At  this  time  each 
change  of  scene  should  be  gone  over  a  number  of 
times,  the  light  cues  should  be  practised,  as  well  as 
curtain  cues.  Only  the  Director,  the  Property  Man- 
ager, the  Stage  Manager  and  his  subordinates  should 
be  present. 

THE   COSTUME   MANAGER 

The  Costume  Manager  with  her  committee 
should  help  the  Director  plan  the  costumes,  then 
assist  in  their  construction  and  see  that  they  are 
kept  in  order.  One  of  the  members  of  the  cos- 
tume committee  must  have  charge  of  the  ''  make 
up  ''  and  another  of  the  dressing  rooms. 

The  costume  committee  should  begin  work  the 
day  the  parts  are  cast,  and  have  it  completed  one 
week  before  the  dress  rehearsal.     The  whole  prob- 


88       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

lem  of  costuming  is  a  difficult  one,  because  of  the 
cost  and  labour  involved.  In  some  places  plays  are 
given  v^ith  no  attempt  at  any  costumes  except  the 
usual  clothes  of  the  players.  It  is  said  that  once, 
v\^hen  on  the  road,  Booth's  company  had  to  play 
in  an  unfinished  theatre.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  so 
cold  that  it  v^as  impossible  for  the  actors  to  put  on 
their  stage  costumes,  so  **  Hamlet ''  was  played  in 
nineteenth  century  travelling  clothes.  Hamlet  wore 
a  business  suit,  Ophelia  wore  a  sealskin  coat,  and 
the  performance  was  a  complete  success.  It  takes 
a  Booth,  however,  to  put  such  an  experiment  across, 
and  it  is  never  successful  with  amateurs. 

If  it  is  impossible  to  have  a  fully  ''costumed'' 
play,  choose  something  in  which  modem  clothes  are 
worn. 

When  modern  plays  are  not  desired,  and  there  is 
no  money  in  the  treasury  to  pay  for  costumes,  then 
it  is  well  to  fall  back  on  the  comforting  theory  of 
*'  illusion."  Have  the  players  wear  their  usual 
clothes,  and  add  to  these  small  accessories  such  as 
crowns,  capes,  sashes  and  swords,  and  suggest  the 
type  of  costume  the  characters  should  wear.  This 
manner  of  costuming  is  particularly  suitable  for 
younger  children,  for  the  imaginations  readily  sup- 
ply whatever  is  lacking,  and  proud  parents  in  the 
audience  give  little  thought  to  the  effect  of  the 
whole.  Although  this  partial  costuming  of  plays  is 
often  of  great  value,  still  it  is  far  better  to  costume 
as  completely  and  well  as  possible  all  plays  that  are 
to  be  presented  publicly. 

Rehearsals  are  often  greatly  strengthened  by  giv- 
ing the  players  some  small  accessory  to  their  cos- 


Process  of  Production  89 

tumes  to  help  create  the  atmosphere  of  the  play.  A 
girl  playing  one  of  the  Oriental  women  in  a  play  of 
"  The  Forty  Thieves,"  had  great  difficulty  in  get- 
ting into  her  part.  The  emotional  abandon  of  the 
East  was  incomprehensible  to  her  New  England  in- 
stincts, and  she  felt  foolish  and  self-conscious.  The 
Director  finally  wound  a  towel  about  her  head,  for  a 
turban,  and  from  that  moment  her  self -conscious- 
ness departed. 

The  first  thing  to  do  for  a  fully  costumed  pro- 
duction is  for  the  Costume  Manager  and  the  com- 
mittee, if  desired,  to  plan  with  the  Director  the 
style  and  colour  scheme  in  which  the  play  is  to  be 
produced.  Every  play  is  of  a  certain  period,  mod- 
ern, historic  or  fantastic  to  which  all  costume  must 
conform  at  least  in  suggestion,  if  not  in  absolute 
accuracy.  Besides  conforming  to  the  period,  the 
costumes  must  conform  to  each  other.  In  order  to 
save  time  and  trouble,  often  the  Director  gives  each 
player  a  vague  description  of  the  general  type  of 
costume  she  should  wear,  relying  upon  the  mother 
of  the  player  to  make  the  perfect  costume.  The  re- 
sult of  this  method  is  a  bedlam  of  incongruities. 
The  player,  in  the  first  place,  mixes  the  directions, 
the  mother,  in  the  second  place,  cannot  understand 
them,  and  then,  either  flings  together  an  apology 
of  a  garment,  or  else,  with  a  wild  zeal  to  have  her 
child  "  look  the  best,"  produces  an  appallingly  un- 
suitable wonder  of  cheap  lace  and  spangles. 

To  decide  upon  a  consistent  scheme  of  costuming, 
particularly  for  historic  plays,  it  is  often  necessary 
to  look  up  historic  sources.  One  or  two  members 
of  the  committee  should  be  appointed  to  do  this 


90       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

research  work  in  the  museums  and  libraries.  Even 
the  smaller  libraries  can  offer  some  information  on 
the  subject  of  costuming.  An  idea  of  old  styles 
and  colour  schemes  can  be  gotten  from  looking  over 
plates  of  tapestries,  parchments,  designs  on  pottery 
and  porcelains,  and  illustrated  stories  of  the  period. 
Whoever  does  the  investigating  for  the  costume 
committee  should  make  careful  notes  of  colours  — 
if  possible  should  make  sketches.  Some  libraries 
permit  students  to  trace  the  plates  they  wish. 

When  the  general  type  of  costume  is  decided 
upon,  each  one  should  be  planned  out.  It  is  worth 
while  to  be  fairly  accurate  historically,  but  foolish 
to  sacrifice  everything  to  that  one  aim.  In  this,  as 
in  every  other  department,  "  illusion ''  should  be 
considered  the  key  word.  The  Director  is  striving 
for  an  artistic  effect,  not  a  perfect  historical  repro- 
duction. Neither  the  accuracy,  nor  inaccuracy  of 
detail  should  detract  the  mind  of  the  audience  from 
the  action. 

The  colour  scheme  must  be  carefully  planned  to 
harmonize  with  the  stage  setting,  and  somewhat 
with  the  tone  and  mood  of  the  play.  A  dainty, 
fairy  fantasy  should  be  done  in  soft,  cool  shades, 
while  an  oriental  play,  full  of  action  and  emotion, 
should  be  costumed  with  warmer  tones,  with  an 
occasional  clashing  colour  combination.  An  inter- 
esting psychological  result  is  obtained  by  putting  the 
''  villain,"  if  there  is  one,  in  a  colour  which  is  in 
discord  with  the  other  costumes. 

The  cheapest  materials  for  costuming  are  cheese- 
cloth, unbleached  muslin,  cambrics,  canton  flannels 
and   sateen.     Cheese  cloth   is   seldom  satisfactory 


Process  of  Production  91 

unless  first  dipped  in  water  to  take  out  the  harsh 
appearance,  or  else  dyed.  Remnants  of  better 
materials  often  can  be  gotten  cheaply;  and  almost 
any  material  can  be  given  an  air  of  grandeur  by 
dyeing  or  stenciling. 

Gold  and  silver  paint  can  be  applied  as  stencils 
by  mixing  the  powder  with  melted  gum  arable. 
Almost  any  fabric  takes  this  combination  with  ex- 
cellent result.  If  you  wish  to  paint  buckram,  how- 
ever, mix  the  gold  or  silver  powder  with  regular 
**  bronze  liquid.''  Coloured  stencils  can  be  made  by 
painting  with  the  *'  Tempora  "  paints  which  come 
in  tubes,  but  this  paint  is  very  expensive,  and  takes 
a  long  time  to  apply. 

Some  patterns  for  historic  plays  can  be  gotten 
from  Butterick,  but  often  costumes  have  to  be  cut 
"  on.''  This  is  not  very  difficult,  however,  and  can 
be  done  by  almost  any  one  with  a  slight  knowledge 
of  dressmaking. 

The  making  of  the  costumes  is  always  a  problem. 
If  they  are  first  cut  out,  and  pinned  or  basted  to- 
gether and  if  the  parents  or  players  themselves 
have  the  time  or  inclination  to  make  them  up,  they 
can  be  easily  accomplished.  Otherwise  a  dress- 
maker must  be  hired  or  a  separate  dressmaking 
committee  formed. 

The  costumes  must  be  completed  a  week  before 
the  final  performance,  and  then  a  costume  rehearsal 
should  be  held. 

At  the  costume  rehearsal,  every  player  puts  on 
his  completed  costume,  and  comes  up  for  inspection 
before  the  Director  and  Manager  of  the  Costume 
Committee.     They  then  tabulate  everything  belong- 


92       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

ing  to  that  costume,  making  two  copies  of  the  lists, 
one  for  the  Manager  of  the  Committee  and  one  for 
the  player. 
For  example : 

KING 

Costume  Property  Accessories 

Purple  tights  Crown 

Yellow  under  jacket  Sceptre 

Purple  stenciled  robe  Dagger 
Gold  Belt 
Pointed  Shoes 

They  must  see  that  the  garments  fit,  that  every 
hook  and  snapper  is  in  place  and  that  every  costume 
is  marked  with  tapes  on  which  is  written  in  indelible 
ink  the  name  of  the  character  by  whom  it  is  worn. 
No  action  is  rehearsed  at  this  time,  but  the  players 
sit  about  and  become  accustomed  to  themselves 
and  each  other  in  their  changed  personalities.  This 
simplifies  the  dress  rehearsal. 

The  make-up  committee  is  a  sub-division  of  the 
costume  committee.  The  Manager  of  this  group 
provides  the  following  items : 

Cold  cream 

Lining 

Foundation  paint 

Rouge  for  face  and  lips 

Powder  of  different  shades 

Powder  pats 

Hare's  feet 

Baby  brushes  to  wipe  powder  off  face 

Moustaches 


ifitas. 


Process  of  Production  93 

Spirit  gum 
Wigs 

Plenty  of  cheesecloth  squares  for  removing 
make-up  CiOm-^x,*.^ 

Hair  pins 
Mirrors 

The  Make  Up  Manager  should  write  a  list  of  all 
changes  of  make  up  which  take  place  between  the 
acts  and  post  this  list  in  a  conspicuous  place. 

Young  players,  especially,  should  use  little  make 
up.  Ordinarily  all  that  they  will  need  will  be,  first, 
some  cold  cream  rubbed  into  the  face,  then  dry  rouge 
on  the  cheeks,  with  a  touch  on  the  chin,  a  little 
darkening  to  the  eyebrows,  and  a  thin  line  along 
the  lower  lid  of  the  eye.  Touch  the  lips  with  rouge 
paste.  Then  powder  the  face  lightly,  to  blend 
everything  together,  and  brush  off  the  powder  with 
a  baby's  hair  brush.  A  very  light  make  up  is  suffi- 
cient for  out  of  door,  afternoon  performance,  but  a 
heavier  one  is  needed  for  indoors  and  brilliant 
lights.  When  the  make  up  must  be  much  heavier, 
then  the  "  foundation  "  is  used.  Rub  this  paste  on 
after  the  cold  cream  has  been  applied  to  the  face, 
then  put  on  the  rouge,  the  lines,  and  the  powder  as 
before. 

To  make  the  eyes  look  larger,  darken  the  upper 
lid,  run  a  thin  line  along  the  lower  lid,  draw  a  short, 
sharply  defined  line  out  from  the  end  of  the  eye,  and 
put  a  dot  of  rouge  paste  in  the  corner  nearer  the 
nose.  When  applying  rouge  paste  to  the  lips,  put 
just  a  touch  in  the  middle,  then  colour  it  down  on 
each  side,  but  not  quite  to  the  corners  of  the  mouth, 


94      Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

unless  you  wish  the  mouth  to  be  large  and  prom- 
inent. For  a  young  and  attractive  make  up,  the  dry 
rouge  is  darkest  about  the  cheek  bones,  shading 
down  toward  the  nose  and  lower  part  of  the  face. 

To  show  age,  darken  under  the  eyes,  with  a  slate 
colour,  and  make  a  few  tiny  "  crow's  feet."  In- 
stead of  leaving  the  dry  rouge  heaviest  on  the  cheek 
bones,  it  must  be  on  the  lower  part  of  the  face, 
and  very  little  rouge  used  at  all.  For  wrinkles,  fol- 
low the  natural  lines  of  the  face,  with  black  or  grey 
lining.  No  lines  should  be  sharply  defined,  but 
should  be  carefully  blended  into  the  skin. 

The  best  moustaches  and  beards  are  made  of  the 
twisted  ropes  of  hair  sold  at  '*  Make  Up  Stores." 
This  hair  can  be  pulled  out  of  the  twist,  cut  the 
length  desired,  fastened  on  the  face  with  spirit  gum 
and  then  trimmed  into  the  proper  shape.  A  good 
deal  of  pressure  must  be  exerted  when  putting  on 
the  moustache,  or  it  may  fall  off  at  a  crucial  moment 
in  the  play. 

The  make-up  table  in  the  dressing  room  must 
be  covered  with  a  rough  cover  of  unbleached  mus- 
lin ;  and  the  make-up  and  all  the  accessories  laid  out 
upon  it  in  order. 

The  dressing  room  should  be  in  charge  of  one  of 
the  members  of  the  Costume  Committee.  It  should 
always  be  kept  in  perfect  order,  with  a  place  for 
everything  and  everything  in  its  place.  Each 
player  should  be  assigned  a  certain  spot  in  which  to 
dress  and  have  an  individual  hook  or  chair  on  which 
to  lay  her  clothes  and  costume. 

The  wash  stand  should  be  provided  with  plenty 
of  soap  and  paper  toweling.     Straight  pins,  safety 


Process  of  Production  95 

pins,  needles,  thread  and  scissors  should  be  kept  in  a 
drawer  or  box.  Each  player  should  bring  his  own 
comb  and  brush. 

There  should  be  as  little  noise  and  confusion  as 
possible,  and  if  the  dressing  rooms  are  near  the 
stage,  all  talking  must  be  absolutely  forbidden  while 
the  play  is  going  on. 

Before  and  during  the  play,  the  costumed  players, 
who  are  waiting  for  their  entrances  must  be  kept  in 
the  dressing  room,  and  absolutely  no  one  allowed 
outside  to  see  his  family  or  friends  in  the  audience. 
Besides  being  against  professional  etiquette  to  ap- 
pear in  front  in  costume  during  the  play,  to  do  so 
destroys  the  illusion  of  the  part  and  action. 

The  directions  for  entrance,  light  and  music 
cues  may  be  posted  by  the  entrance.  It  is  some- 
times necessary  for  the  Property  Manager  to  keep 
his  properties  in  the  dressing  rooms.  When  it  is, 
he  must  have  a  table,  or  special  place  to  keep  them, 
and  no  one  must  be  allowed  to  touch  them,  or 
thoughtlessly  cover  them  up  with  hastily  discarded 
garments. 

PROPERTY   MANAGER 

The  Property  Manager,  with  his  committee,  pro- 
vides the  furniture,  rugs,  and  every  small  article 
called  for  in  the  play.  Usually  the  larger  things 
may  be  borrowed  or  rented,  but  the  Property  Mana- 
ger must  be  prepared  to  make  anything  that  may 
be  demanded  from  fountains  to  crowns. 

The  first  duty  of  the  Property  Manager  is  to 
make  a  list  of  all  the  properties  needed.  He  then 
provides  substitutes  for  the  more  important  prop- 


g6       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

erties  to  be  used  in  the  rehearsals.  For  a  while  a 
stick  will  do  for  a  sceptre,  or  a  newspaper  for  the 
missing  will;  but  there  is  one  thing  for  which  a  sub- 
stitute will  not  do,  and  that  is  a  sword.  If  one  is  to 
be  worn,  it  should  be  used  in  as  many  rehearsals 
as  possible,  for  until  the  wearer  has  become  abso- 
lutely accustomed  to  its  vagaries,  he  will  trip  up 
himself,  and  all  other  players  whom  he  approaches. 

The  borrowing  of  properties  is  to  be  discouraged, 
for  articles  receive  rough  treatment  during  hurried 
scene  shifting,  and  there  is  often  inexcusable  care- 
lessness in  regard  to  returning  things  of  even  great 
value.  Whenever  it  is  possible,  the  Property  Com- 
mittee should  make  what  is  needed,  and  by  necessity 
will  discover  many  short  cuts  to  good  effects. 

Stiff  buckram  is  a  boon  to  any  Property  Mana- 
ger. From  it  one  can  construct  crowns,  armour, 
mediaeval  head-dresses,  hats,  scabbards,  and  animals' 
masks.  It  can  be  easily  cut  with  heavy  shears, 
it  bends  and  rolls  without  tearing  or  cracking  and 
when  fastened  with  Dennison's  divided  brass  tacks, 
holds  its  shape.  After  made  into  the  shape  desired, 
it  can  be  painted  easily  and  effectively  with  gold  or 
silver  paint,  or  with  ordinary  oil  house  paints. 

Tapestries  may  be  "  woven ''  by  painting  burlap 
with  soft  colours  of  house  paint,  and  old  parchments 
may  be  made  of  strips  of  brown  wrapping  paper 
painted  with  creamy  white,  applied  with  a  rotary 
motion  of  the  brush.  Porcelain  or  china  "  take  '' 
oil  paint,  and  by  a  careful  use  of  colours,  shaded  to- 
gether when  first  put  on,  can  be  made  into  an  excel- 
lent imitation  of  old  wares. 

In   Oriental   plays,   great  jars  may  be   needed. 


Process  of  Production  97 

These  can  be  made  by  taking  barrels,  covering  them 
with  chicken  wire  shaped  above  the  top  into  a  rim, 
then  covering  the  chicken  wire  with  newspapers,  and 
lastly  the  newspapers  with  unbleached  muslin  drawn 
as  tightly  as  possible  over  the  whole  foundation. 
If  the  kalsomine  water  colour  paints  are  to  be  used, 
size  the  barrels  first  with  liquid  glue.  This  shrinks 
the  muslin  somewhat,  and  makes  the  foundation 
even  firmer  than  before.  After  the  glue  has  dried, 
apply  the  paint. 

By  the  dress  rehearsal,  all  the  properties  must  be 
finished,  gathered  together  and  listed  according  to 
acts.  All  the  actors  must  have  the  property  acces- 
sories to  their  costumes,  and  the  Costume  Manager 
must  be  supplied  with  lists  of  such  accessories.  The 
properties  must  be  kept  in  their  proper  places  and 
before  the  play  begins  and  between  the  acts  must  be 
**  planted  "  in  their  proper  positions  on  stage  and 
off.  This  must  be  done  with  the  greatest  of  care, 
for  often  the  whole  play  hinges  about  one  small 
property,  and  if  the  Property  Manager  has  forgot- 
ten it,  woe  be  unto  the  frantic  actors. 

PROMPTER 

The  Prompter  is  as  important  a  personage  as  any 
of  the  heads  of  committees  and  he  is  far  too  often 
overlooked  until  the  last  minute.  Amateurs  are  apt 
to  feel  that  any  one  can  come  in  and  hold  the  play 
and  prompt  with  only  one  or  two  rehearsals.  On 
the  contrary  the  prompter  should  be  present  at  all 
rehearsals  after  the  lines  have  been  learned.  His 
prompt  book  should  be  the  text,  clearly  typed, 
pasted  on  the  right  hand  side  of  leaves  of  stiff  paper, 


98       Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

loosely  tied  together.  There  should  be  margin  for 
notes  of  stage  business,  action  and  pauses.  He 
should  be  thoroughly  familiar  with  all  such  busi- 
ness, action,  and  stage  waits,  and  should  never  inter- 
rupt with  prompting  unless  he  is  absolutely  sure  it  is 
necessary.  Some  signal  should  be  determined  upon 
by  which  the  players  can  let  the  prompter  know 
when  they  are  losing  their  lines.  A  slight  motion 
of  the  fingers  might  be  decided  upon  to  be  used  in 
case  of  trouble,  and  this  would  not  be  noticed  by  the 
audience. 

It  is  not  wise,  however,  to  allow  the  cast  to  be- 
come too  dependent  upon  the  prompter,  and  of 
course,  by  the  final  performance  prompting  should 
never  be  necessary. 

It  is  a  good  plan  when  nearing  the  date  of  per- 
formance, to  have  one  or  two  rehearsals  without 
any  prompting  allowed,  making  the  players  impro- 
vise if  they  lose  their  lines.  This  is  a  great  aid  to  a 
sense  of  self-reliance  and  poise. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IMPORTANT   POINTS 

Team  work  —  Cues  —  Exits  and  entrances  —  Crowd  work  — 
Stage  pictures  —  Harmony  of  colours. 

Team  Work.  One  of  the  greatest  faults  of  ama- 
teurs is  that  they  fail  to  get  the  important  points 
"  across."  The  action,  instead  of  being  clear-cut,  is 
muddled  by  placing  undue  emphasis  on  side  issues. 
The  way  to  "  point  "  special  lines  is  to  centre  all  the 
interest  on  the  person  who  speaks  them,  and  to 
stress  the  key  words  with  proper  inflection.  But 
often  the  difficulty  in  getting  the  action  clearly 
*'  across  ''  is  not  due  to  faulty  emphasis  of  the  lines, 
but  to  undue  emphasis  of  minor  characters.  The 
attention  of  the  audience  is  split  up  among  the  dif- 
ferent players,  each  mother  watching  her  own  child, 
thinking  that  he  is  undeniably  the  ''  star,"  even  if  he 
only  announces  that  the  carriage  waits.  On  the 
stage  it  is  the  natural  instinct  of  each  player  to  think 
that  he  is  the  centre  of  interest.  In  this  way  there 
is  no  focusing  of  attention,  either  of  audience  or 
players,  and  there  is  danger  that  a  minor  character 
may  steal  the  big  crises  from  the  star.  This  hap- 
pened recently  in  a  play  in  which  a  minor  character 
got  the  entire  attention  and  sympathy  of  the  au- 
dience  in   an    eating   scene.     They   were   entirely 

99 


lOO     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

'^  with  "  her,  and  roared  with  delight  and  amuse- 
ment every  time  she  put  anything  into  her  mouth. 
She  thought  that,  since  she  was  there  to  entertain, 
she  would  be  just  as  entertaining  as  she  could,  with 
the  result  that  she  completely  dominated  the  scene, 
and  the  player  who  should  have  given  the  important 
line  could  not  do  so  against  the  laughter  of  the 
audience.  The  director  should  guard  carefully 
against  all  such  mistakes,  by  pointing  out  to  the  cast 
the  absolute  necessity  of  *' team ''  work  in  all  suc- 
cessful productions,  and  by  insisting  upon  the  har- 
mony of  the  whole.  Each  part  should  be  brought 
up  to  fit  perfectly  with  every  other  part,  and  no 
undue  emphasis  given  to  any.  All  should  work 
together  for  perfect  production,  and  it  should  be 
the  first  consideration. 

Cues.  Cues  should  be  taken  up  quickly.  Noth- 
ing makes  a  play  drag  so  badly  as  long  waits  be- 
tween speeches.  One  good  way  to  overcome  this 
defect  is  to  have  the  first  speaker  continue  speaking 
until  the  one  who  should  take  up  the  cue  learns  to  do 
it  on  time.  The  action  for  taking  up  a  cue  really 
begins  before  the  first  speaker  has  finished  speaking. 
The  articulation  of  the  first  word  of  the  answer  is 
often  begun  before  the  last  word  of  the  first  speaker 
is  finished.  Players  cannot  go  far  wrong  with  the 
lines  if  they  jeel  what  is  coming.  It  is  not  a  "  cue,'' 
really,  but  a  response  to  the  former  speech.  There 
is  always  a  statement  somewhere  in  the  text  of  the 
first  speaker  which  starts  the  idea  of  the  reply,  and 
it  is  when  this  idea  comes  that  the  cue  is  really  taken 
up.  At  that  point  the  listener  takes  breath,  and  is 
ready  for  his  reply.     This  quick  response  is  very 


Ml. 


Important  Poin^i^,  ;     ;         ;  ;   lOi : 

important  and  should  be  carefully  worked  out  by 
the  dramatic  director. 

Exits  and  Entrances.  Almost  any  one  can  make 
a  good  exit,  because  the  work  on  the  stage  builds  up 
to  a  climax,  the  actor  is  more  or  less  in  the  spirit  of 
the  part,  and  consequently  can  make  an  exit  without 
losing  that  spirit.  An  entrance  is  a  totally  different 
matter.  An  entrance  must  be  built  up  outside. 
The  influence  of  scenery  behind  the  stage  helps 
amateurs  wonderfully  in  giving  them  the  necessary 
feeling,  which  aids  so  much  in  making  a  good  en- 
trance. If  you  cannot  have  the  actual  scenery,  you 
must  build  up  the  feeling  in  some  other  way.  Cer- 
tainly you  must  try  to  keep  distractions  away  from 
the  players  as  much  as  possible  and  teach  them  to 
think  of  their  part  and  keep  in  the  spirit  of  it.  One 
great  actor,  it  is  said,  constantly  acted  his  part  be- 
hind the  scenes.  He  put  it  on  with  his  costume  and 
make-up,  and  kept  it  on  until  the  end  of  the  play. 

The  feeling  that  there  are  wonderful  fairies 
watching  the  little  girl  who  enters  timidly  and  yet 
with  such  happiness,  hoping  to  meet  one  of  these 
dainty  folk,  is  begun  behind  the  scenes  if  her  en- 
trance is  to  have  that  naturalness  so  much  to  be 
desired.  She  feels  the  presence  of  the  fairies,  and 
sees  the  wood,  before  she  appears  in  the  actual  scene. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  first  scene  in  *'  Romeo  and 
Juliet,''  the  quarrel  between  the  servants  of  the 
houses  of  Montague  and  Capulet.  The  feeling  that 
makes  the  quarrel,  the  loyalty  of  the  servant  to  his 
master,  is  worked  up  behind  the  scenes,  and,  there- 
fore, the  quarrel  can  begin  at  once  as  soon  as  the 
actors  appear. 


-^  t'62  :  id'nii^ieur/m^^^^  Dramatics 

Take,  also,  the  prologue  of  "  The  House  of  the 
Heart '' : 

"I  am  Experience.    I  dwell 
In  mountains  called  Delectable, 
And  come  from  those  far  heights  to  pray 
A  gracious  hearing  for  our  play/' 

You  do  not  build  up  the  *'  mountains  delectable  " 
and  "  far  heights  "  then,  but  long  before.  One  in- 
teresting way  to  accomplish  this  is  for  the  players  to 
write  and  work  up  little  scenes  between  the  acts, — 
scenes  that  will  not  appear  in  the  real  play,  but  are, 
nevertheless,  acted  out  by  the  players.  It  gives  a 
wonderful  idea  of  unity  and  keeps  the  spirit  of  the 
play  intact. 

If  the  players  could  be  made  to  feel  that  they,  as 
the  characters,  are  living  their  lives  all  the  time 
behind  the  scenes,  and  that  once  in  awhile  they 
merely  appear  to  show  a  portion  of  that  life, —  the 
life  itself  continuing  just  the  same,  although  not 
shown, —  it  would  make  entrances  as  natural  as 
exits  and  as  effective. 

Crowd  work.  The  difficulty  of  managing  a  stage 
crowd  will  be  much  lessened  if  the  director  will 
choose  a  leader,  or  possibly  two,  and  train  them  as 
crowd  leaders.  They  lead  the  crowd  as  a  musical 
director  does  his  orchestra,  namely :  —  by  hand  and 
arm  motion.  For  instance,  your  angry  crowd  are 
coming  to  attack  the  palace.  They  are  really  just 
behind  the  scenes,  waiting  for  the  cue  to  make  their 
presence  known.  They  are  divided  into  groups, 
each  group  having  its  own  lines  to  say,  its  own 
sounds  to  make.     The  leader  knows  all  the  parts, 


i: 


Important  Points  103 

and  where  the  speakers  in  the  crowd  are  stationed. 
The  cue  is  given;  the  first  group  murmurs  angrily. 
The  leader  waves  his  right  hand  toward  that  group, 
the  arm  held  low,  which  indicates  a  low  murmur, 
his  left  hand  over  his  mouth.  The  crowd  imitates 
his  left-hand  gesture,  covering  their  mouths,  and 
behind  that  screen  they  murmur.  Gradually  the 
hand  moves  away,  the  murmur  consequently  becom- 
ing louder,  which  gives  the  effect  of  a  crowd  coming 
nearer  and  nearer.  Meantime,  the  second  group, 
under  the  waved  guidance  of  the  leader,  has  been 
doing  its  part.  It  is  "  Kill !  Burn !  " —  the  tone 
ever  growing  louder.  Now  comes  the  third  group 
with  a  shriek  of  "  Kill!  Kill !"— always  led  by  the 
director's  hand.  The  first  crowd's  murmur  grows 
into  Ah-a-a-  pitched  in  differing  tones,  with  a  strong 
intake  of  breath.  The  second  group's  outcry  be- 
comes more  distinct.  Now  a  fourth  group  begins 
to  work,  with  shrieks  mingled  with  confused  impre- 
cations. The  first  group  now  beats  upon  the  doors, 
they  break  down,  and  the  crowd  rushes  in. 

The  crowd  on  the  stage  can  be  managed  in  almost 
the  same  way  if  the  leader  is  well  trained  and  knows 
and  watches  every  movement,  and  the  crowd  knows 
and  watches  him.  The  effect  of  a  crowd  upon  the 
stage  is  easily  obtained,  even  if  no  real  crowd  is 
present,  by  filling  the  open  spaces  so  that  no  open- 
ings are  visible  from  the  audience.  There  is  no 
object  in  having  a  huge  crowd  of  Romans  listening 
to  Marc  Antony's  oration,  if  with  a  few  the  stage 
director  can  make  the  audience  imagine  that  half  of 
Rome  is  present.  Of  course  all  sorts  of  devices, 
such  as  the  effect  of  various  colours  to  indicate  the 


I04     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

temper  of  the  crowd,  can  be  practised  to  make 
crowd  work  realistic.  The  difference  in  feehng  im- 
parted to  an  audience  by  the  coming  of  the  crowd 
from  one  point  or  another,  such  as,  for  instance,  a 
Hne  of  Indians  filing  one  by  one  from  the  back  and 
massing  for  an  attack,  is  much  more  exciting  than  a 
sudden  rush  of  Indians  from  the  side  would  be. 
All  these  things,  however,  really  bring  us  naturally 
into 

Stage  Pictures.  On  this  important  subject  one 
could  write  almost  a  volume.  The  director,  in 
studying  a  stage  picture,  must  keep  two  points  in 
mind :  the  artistic  value  of  the  picture,  and  the  all- 
important,  and  often  forgotten,  value  to  be  gained 
by  the  players.  In  other  words,  the  director  should 
keep  an  eye  on  the  stage  picture,  but  should  never 
tell  a  player  to  take  a  certain  position,  because  the 
stage  will  look  better.  There  must  be  a  human 
reason  why  every  person  on  the  stage  should  be  in 
any  given  position.  No  actor  should  be  told  to  face 
the  audience,  he  must  be  given  a  reason  for  facing 
that  way.  Avoid  movements  and  never  allow  a 
player  to  move,  unless  he  knows  exactly  why  he 
does  so.  Never  tell  him  how  to  do  it.  If  he  knows 
why  he  does  it,  he  will  know  the  way.  Never  tell 
a  player  he  is  awkward;  lead  him  to  see  another 
way.  Develop  the  situation  and  the  player  will 
cease  to  be  awkward.  Never  tell  a  player  a  fatilt 
or  what  he  does  badly;  it  only  ser^^es  to  make  him 
stumble  whenever  he  reaches  that  particular  sit- 
uation again.  Lead  him  away  from  it  by  directing 
his  attention  toward  right  development  of  the  sit- 
uation.    Do  not  allow  the  player  to  think  of  the 


'  In  a  stage  picture,  usually,  there  is  a  central  point,  and  on  both 

sides   of   this   the   parts   must   balance    well  " 

(By   courtesy   of   "The    Workshop   Players   of    Yonkers") 


Important  Points  105 

audience.  Teach  him  to  forget  that  there  is  an 
audience.  So  develop  his  interest  in  the  play  that 
he  will  not  have  a  thought  left  for  the  audience. 
Keep  the  players  interested  in  the  progress  of  the 
action;  then  no  player's  attention  v^ill  ever  be 
diverted  toward  the  audience,  nor  will  the  players 
be  bad  "  listeners/'  and  so  lose  the  interest  of  their 
audience.  Nothing  is  so  distracting  as  any  signs 
from  the  players  that  they  are  distrait. 

In  Shakespeare's  day  the  scene  was  depicted  in 
the  lines  of  the  play,  as,  for  instance,  "  How  sweet 
the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank,"  or  the  ban- 
ished Duke's  speech  in  ''  As  You  Like  It,"  describ- 
ing the  Forest  of  Arden.  In  amateur  productions 
the  scenery  is  often  as  simple  as  it  was  in  those 
days ;  nevertheless,  the  stage  picture  is  now  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  director's  work.  If  the  raising  or 
lowering  of  a  window  shade  forms  a  part  of  the  im- 
portant action  of  the  play,  then  a  window  with  an 
adjustable  shade  must  form  a  part  of  the  stage 
equipment.  If  an  important  letter  is  to  be  written, 
a  desk  must  be  placed  somewhere  near  the  centre  of 
the  stage  as  part  of  the  scene.  Too  elaborate 
scenery,  however,  in  amateur  plays  often  distracts 
the  audience  from  the  all-important  matter,  namely, 
the  players  themselves.  The  director  should  study 
the  stage  picture  with  regard  to  colour,  balance,  and 
form,  but  should  not  sacrifice  his  players  at  any  time 
to  these  things.  In  a  stage  picture,  usually,  there  is 
a  central  point,  and  on  both  sides  of  this  the  parts 
must  balance  well.  An  isolated  object  will  attract 
powerfully,  especially  if  placed  either  a  bit  forward 
or  a  bit  back  of  the  main  picture.     These  stage  pic- 


io6     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

tures  should  not  be  formed  in  a  haphazard  fashion, 
but  should  be  thought  out  carefully  in  advance,  then 
tried  and  tested  to  see  if  the  thought-form  follows 
the  stage-form,  for  the  thought  or  idea  must  never 
be  sacrificed  to  form. 

Straight  lines  are  not  conducive  to  dialogue. 
Actors  in  a  straight  line  do  not  seem  to  be  talking 
to  one  another.  Amateurs  have  a  tendency  to  stand 
in  straight  lines,  to  stand  too  close  together,  or  to 
get  in  front  of  one  another.  If  they  are  placed 
farther  apart,  both  dialogue  and  stage  pictures  are 
improved. 

Often  an  amateur  speaks  his  ov^n  lines  v^ell,  and 
then,  because  he  does  not  listen  to  the  reply,  seems 
to  step  out  of  the  stage  picture  until  his  turn  to 
speak  comes  again.  The  reply  may  be  eloquently 
moving,  but  the  listener  is  not  even  interested.  The 
action  of  the  listener  is  as  important  as  that  of  the 
speaker. 

Colour  is  an  essential  part  of  a  stage  picture.  In 
the  first  place,  the  background  colour  must  be  of  a 
tone  to  blend  well  with  the  colours  shown  against  it. 
Colours  symbolize  various  states  of  feeling.  White 
has  always  been  symbolic  of  purity  and  youth. 
Black  has  always  been  typical  of  sorrow  and  awe; 
sometimes  combined  with  or  placed  near  cold 
colours,  it  suggests  fear.  Cream  white  and  ivory 
white  are,  of  course,  warmer  than  blue  white.  Red 
signifies  royalty,  as  does  purple.  It  may  indicate 
also  religious  zeal,  or  courage ;  and,  in  an  evil  sense, 
malice,  hatred  and  war.  Green,  of  course,  is  the 
spring  colour  and  typifies  youth  and  hope.  Yellow 
stands  for  wisdom,  and  in  the  golden  shades  is  a 


Important  Points  107 

type  of  the  sun ;  when  dark  and  dingy,  it  is  a  sign  of 
deceit.  Pale  blue  is  cold  and  signifies  purity  and 
coolness. 

The  combination  of  colours  should  be  carefully 
studied,  as  well  as  their  significance,  to  obtain  pic- 
torial and  pleasing  effects,  and  this  can  be  done  only 
by  experiment.  The  study  of  nature  will  give  us 
the  cue.  The  best  plan  is  to  choose  a  foundational 
colour,  expressing  in  its  tone  the  idea  of  the  play, 
and  let  the  other  cofours  for  the  scene  be  modified 
by  it. 

A  whole  stage  colour  scheme  can  be  worked  out 
and  visualized  by  placing  spools  of  sewing  silk  in   ^^ 
various  groups,  combining  the  colours  until  the  best 
result  is  obtained.     Skeins  of  embroidery  silk  can 
be  used  in  the  same  way. 

Light,  of  course,  changes  the  colour  scheme  and 
it  is  well  to  choose  the  colours  to  be  used  with  refer- 
ence to  the  stage  lighting.  Little  things  in  the  stage 
picture  often  help  much  in  securing  the  desired 
effect.  For  instance,  a  vase  of  flowers,  the  glass 
catching  and  diffusing  the  light,  will  often  give  a 
little  touch  of  wealth  and  refinement  to  a  stage 
room.  A  chair  can  often  be  converted  into  a  throne 
by  merely  throwing  over  it  a  piece  of  tapestry  or  a 
satin  cloak.  It  is  suggestion,  creating  illusion  in 
the  mind  of  the  audience,  that  really  creates  the 
stage  picture.  The  audience  fill  in  the  details  with 
imagination  and  make  a  picture  much  more  perfect 
than  could  be  devised  by  tons  of  properties. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ANALYSIS   OF   TWO    SCENES 

An  analysis  of  the  teaching  of  a  play  for  primary  dramatics 
—  The  Enchanted  Garden  by  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay. 
An  analysis  of  the  teaching  of  a  scene  for  High  School 
dramatics  —  As  You  Like  It,  Scene  II. 

The  play  chosen  as  an  example  for  Primary 
Dramatics  is  The  Enchanted  Garden,  by  Constance 
D'Arcy  Mackay.^ 

The  children  are  all  assembled  and  with  great 
pleasure  and  unbounded  enthusiasm  I  tell  them  the 
story.  It  is  always  best  in  dealing  with  children  to 
tell  them  the  story  before  reading  the  play.  They 
form  better  mental  pictures  while  hearing  a  story 
told.  Because  of  the  form  of  any  drama,  it  is 
almost  impossible  for  a  director  to  read  a  play  aloud 
with  spontaneous  naturalness,  and  the  children  fol- 
low the  dramatic  form  instead  of  the  idea. 

Once  there  was  a  wonderful  garden  where  many 
beautiful  flowers  lived  and  were  carefully  watched 
and  tended.  There  were  dainty  sweet  peas, —  pink, 
yellow,  purple  and  red,  reminding  one  of  butterflies 
as  they  swayed  to  and  fro.  There  were  tall,  white 
graceful  lilies,  sleepy,  bright  poppies,  sweet  brown 

1  The  Enchanted  Garden  in  "  The  House  of  the  Heart " 
by  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay.  Published  by  Henry  Holt  and 
Co. 

io8 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  109 

mignonette,  gay  iris,  and  dear  little  hooded  pansies, 
but  not  a  single  rose.  This  garden  where  all  these 
flowers  grew  was  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  so 
high  that  no  flower  had  ever  been  able  to  look  over 
it,  so  they  had  never  seen  how  big  the  world  outside 
was,  nor  knew  at  all  about  the  wild  flowers  that 
grew  in  the  big  fields  or  along  the  road,  but  only 
about  those  that  grew  in  their  own  cultivated  gar- 
den. 

When  the  play  begins  it  is  almost  time  for  the  sun 
to  rise,  and  lively  Will-o'-the-Wisp,  who  is  a  sort  of 
fairy,  is  in  the  garden  looking  at  the  sleeping 
flowers  by  the  light  of  his  tiny  lantern.  With  the 
rising  of  the  sun  he  vanishes.  The  flowers  all  wake 
up  one  by  one, —  last  of  all  the  sleepy  poppy.  Then 
they  all  dance  and  nod  their  dainty  heads  together, 
because  they  are  so  glad  of  another  bright  day. 
Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  gaiety,  they  spy  a 
new  flower  and  think  she  has  no  right  to  be  there. 
The  newcomer  sweetly  explains  that  she  is  a  wild 
rose  and  has  strayed  in  by  mistake,  but  the  flowers 
are  all  very  disagreeable  and  unkind  to  the  little 
wild  rose.  Presently  in  comes  Prince  Butterfly, 
who  flits  from  flower  to  flower,  teasing  each  one  as 
he  flies  about.  He  brings  the  great  news  that  the 
Queen  of  Hearts  "  will  leave  for  one  morning  her 
baking  of  tarts  to  choose  from  the  garden  the  love- 
liest flower."  Each  flower  hopes  she  may  be  the 
favoured  one.  Suddenly  Prince  Butterfly  sees  the 
little  Wild  Rose  and  asks  who  she  is.  Very  jeal- 
ously the  flowers  reply  that  she  is  only  a  weed  and 
grows  wild  in  the  country.  Prince  Butterfly  indig- 
nantly rebukes  the  flowers,  saying  that  this  is  Wild 


no     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Rose  and  that  no  flower  in  the  garden  is  more  fair. 
Just  then  in  comes  the  bustling  Bumble-Bee,  an- 
nouncing with  his  droning  trumpet  the  coming  of 
the  Queen.  Presently .  the  Queen  of  Hearts  comes 
down  the  garden  path,  saying  that  she  is  "  weary  of 
lilies  and  tired  of  sweet-peas  "  and  that  "the  mig- 
nonette and  gay  poppies  all  fail  to  please.''  Then 
she  sees  the  Wild  Rose,  and  with  pleasure  stops 
beside  her.  The  Wild  Rose  explains  with  great 
diffidence  and  embarrassment  that  she  came  in  by 
mistake,  but,  much  to  the  joy  of  Prince  Butterfly 
and  Bumble-Bee,  the  Queen  chooses  the  Wild  Rose 
for  the  Queen  of  the  garden.  All  of  the  flowers, 
meantime,  have  become  very  penitent  and  beg  Wild 
Rose  to  forgive  them  for  having  been  so  unkind. 
Wild  Rose  replies  sweetly,  '*  Nay,  what's  to  for- 
give? The  past  is  forgotten.  In  peace  let  us  live," 
and  all  the  flowers  are  very  happy. 

The  children  are  really  forming  the  picture  in 
their  minds  and  learning  the  story  while  listening 
to  the  reading  of  the  play.  Later  the  parts  are 
assigned. 

To  help  give  '*  atmosphere,"  the  children  might 
sing  *'The  Flow'rets  All  Sleep  Soundly"  (The 
Sandmannchen,  by  Brahms),  before  Pansy  recites 
the  charming  prologue  describing  the  garden.  The 
dramatic  director  must  impress  on  Pansy  that  the 
people  in  the  audience  have  never  seen  the  garden 
and  she  must  tell  them  about  it. 

The  scene  opens  with  all  the  flowers  drooping 
their  heads  in  sleep,  as  Will-o'-the-Wisp  steals  in. 
No,  no.  Mignonette,  you  must  not  peep  at  Will-o'- 
the-Wisp ;  you  do  not  see  him  at  all.     No  one  really 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  iii 

sees  him,  because  he  is  a  fairy,  and,  besides,  you  are 
sound  asleep.  Yes,  he  has  a  tiny  lantern  and  he 
carries  it  in  his  hand  so  that  he  can  see  the  flowers. 
He  goes  from  one  group  to  another,  talking  about 
each  one  as  he  looks  at  them.  Of  course  he  moves 
very  quietly,  because  he  says,  "  Hush !  The  flowers 
are  sleeping."  He  looks  at  each  to  see  that  all  are 
safe,  for  he  is  ^*  guarding  all  the  sleepers.''  Pres- 
ently he  looks  up  and  sees  the  moon,  and  listens  to 
the  ''  grey  owl's  cry."  Then  he  sees  that  the  dawn 
is  coming  and  says  that  he  must  *^  vanish  with  the 
break  of  day,"  and  disappears. 

The  stage  brightens,  the  flowers  move  slightly. 
Mignonette  raises  her  head,  stretches  a  little,  sees 
that  it  is  daybreak,  and  cries  ''  Awaken !  awaken ! 
for  lo,  'tis  the  dawn."  Certainly  she  speaks  loudly 
to  awaken  the  other  flowers,  and  she  is  so  very 
happy  because  it  is  such  a  beautiful  day  that  she 
cries  out  quite  loudly,  '*  Night-time  is  over." 
Poppy  wakes  up  and  stretches  her  arms, —  no,  not 
really  arms,  really  petals;  she  yawns,  oh,  just  a  little, 
because  she  says  '*  I  feel  I  must  yawn."  That 
means  that  she  feels  like  yawning,  but  does  not  do  it 
very  hard.  Mignonette  now  speaks  to  all  the 
flowers  and  tells  them  what  a  lovely  day  it  is  and 
how  sweet  is  the  air  — ''  the  air  blows  so  sweet  " — 
then  she  hears  the  birds  and  talks  about  '*  the  clear 
bird  voices."  Yes,  I  think  the  Sweet  Peas  might 
pretend  to  take  off  their  **  night-caps  "  when  Mig- 
nonette speaks  about  them,  and  perhaps  put  on  their 
sun-bonnets  which  Prince  Butterfly  admires  later 
on. 

Now  the   flowers  have  a  dance,   a  very  quiet, 


112     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

flower-like  dance,  and  then  they  discover  Wild 
Rose.  No,  of  course  they  do  not  all  see  her  at 
once.  Yes,  I  think  Lily  and  Iris  would  be  the  first 
to  see  her,  for  they  are  the  tallest.  Lily  speaks 
first: 

''  Mignonette,  pray  you  look !  A  new  flower  is 
here!''  Yes,  I  think  Poppy  would  see  her  last  of 
all,  because  she  is  still  a  little  sleepy. 

Mignonette  replies,  *'  She  doesn't  belong  to  the 
garden,  that's  clear." 

To  whom  is  Mignonette  speaking?  To  Lily? 
Very  well,  let  her  speak  to  Lily,  then,  but  she  looks 
at  Wild  Rose.  Try  it  and  see.  If  you  speak  to  me 
about  Mary,  you  look  at  Mary,  do  you  not?  Oh, 
yes.  Well,  when  you  speak  to  Lily  you  look  at 
Wild  Rose.  Then,  too,  remember  Mignonette  never 
saw  a  rose  before  and  she  is  very  much  interested. 

Poppy  speaks  next :  ''  A  very  great  liberty  for 
her  to  take."  Poppy,  I  think,  is  not  speaking  to 
anybody  in  particular, —  are  you.  Poppy?  Little 
Wild  Rose  says  timidly,  because  she  is  all  alone 
among  these  strangers  who  are  not  cordial  to  her, — 

"  Fm  just  a  Wild  Rose  —  I  strayed  in  by  mistake 
Last  night  in  the  dark.     Oh,  pray  don't  think  me  bold, 
For  gardens  are  very  exclusive,  Fm  told." 

What  does  *' exclusive "  mean?  Yes,  that's 
right.  Wild  Rose  says  it  means  everybody  can't 
come  there.  See  how  polite  Wild  Rose  is :  '*  Oh, 
pray  don't  think  me  bold." 

Now,  Sweet  Pea,  you  must  not  stand  like  that, 
with  your  toes  turned  in.  You  always  stand  that 
way?     Well,  it  looks  very  awkward  for  a  little  girl 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  113 

to  stand  so,  and  for  a  graceful  Sweet  Pea  it  won't 
do  at  all.  Oh,  yes,  now  you  look  like  a  Sweet  Pea ; 
yes,  that's  just  perfect. 

Iris  now  speaks  —  yes,  I  think  she  would  stand 
up  very  stately  and  hard  looking  — 

"  The  flowers  who  grow  here  are  flowers  everyone 

knows, 
But  none  of  them  ever  have  heard  of  a  rose." 

One  reason,  probably,  why  they  have  never  heard 
of  a  rose  is  that  roses  do  not  grow  well  with  other 
flowers.  That  is  why  we  have  rose  gardens.  All 
the  flowers  now  ply  Wild  Rose  with  questions  about 
herself  and  comment  to  one  another  about  her  re- 
plies. They  are  very  rude  and  unkind,  until  at  last 
Wild  Rose  becomes  a  little  indignant  and  says : 

*'  I  never  have  lived  behind  walls,  it  is  true. 

Yet  we  share,  do  we  not,  the  wind  and  the  dew  ?  " 

For  a  moment  after  this  the  flowers  talk  together, 
and  then  all  begin  again  asking  Wild  Rose  ques- 
tions about  her  friends  and  her  life.  They  are  in- 
terrupted by  the  fluttering  in  of  Prince  Butterfly. 
All  the  flowers  admire  Prince  Butterfly  very  much, 
and  each  one  tries  to  arrange  her  petals  and  look  her 
best. 

Yes,  of  course  Prince  Butterfly  has  wings.  He 
flutters  his  wings  nearly  all  the  time.  All  butter- 
flies do,  unless  they  are  resting,  and  our  Prince  But- 
terfly is  not  resting  at  all  this  morning.  He  goes 
from  one  flower  to  another,  making  gay  little  re- 
marks as  he  goes.  When  he  comes  to  Sweet  Pea  he 
says. 


114     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

"  Ah,  pretty  Sweet  Pea, 

Pink  sun-bonnets  still  are  in  fashion,  I  see." 

Yes,  I  do  think  Sweet  Pea  might  re-tie  the  strings 
of  her  sunbonnet  and  make  a  bigger  bow.  Cer- 
tainly she  would  smile  at  Prince  Butterfly  when  he 
called  her  **  pretty  Sweet  Pea.''  Now  he  tells  all 
the  flowers  the  news  about  the  Queen's  coming  to 
the  garden.  Oh,  certainly  they  would  gather 
around  him  to  hear,  and  then  each  one  would  ar- 
range her  petals,  and  Lily  would  look  anxiously  at 
the  sky  when  she  says,  "  I  hope  it  won't  shower." 
Sweet  Pea  again  gives  a  final  pat  to  the  strings  of 
her  sunbonnet,  and  Iris  smooths  her  leaves. 
Prince  Butterfly  suddenly  sees  Wild  Rose.  Oh, 
yes,  he  knows  about  wild  roses ;  he  flies  everywhere 
and  knows  all  the  flowers  outside  the  high  wall;  so 
when  the  flowers  call  her  ''  a  weed,"  he  replies: 

"  A  strange  weed,  indeed ! 

None  other  than  Wild  Rose,  than  whom  I  declare 

There  is  not  a  flower  in  the  garden  more  fair." 

This  remark  irritates  the  flowers  and  makes  them 
very  cross.  They  do  not  like  to  hear  Prince  Butter- 
fly say  that  this  stranger  is  more  beautiful  than  they. 
They  all  show  how  jealous  they  are,  and  Iris  re- 
torts :  ''  She  says  she's  well  born ;  but  we  know  she 
grows  wild."  This  makes  Prince  Butterfly  very  in- 
dignant. Yes,  I  think  when  Prince  Butterfly  is 
angry  he  might  move  his  wings  very  fast,  while  he 
tells  each  flower  in  turn  how  foolish  and  naughty 
she  is. 

Away  outside  now  we  hear  the  Bumble-Bee  com- 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  115 

ing.  Yes,  buzz,  buzz!  Of  course  he  has  wings. 
Yes,  let  him  buzz  about  from  flower  to  flower;  he 
says  he  is  "  busy  as  ever ''  and  asks  the  flowers, 
"  Which  of  you  all  has  honey  to  sell? ''  Now,  as 
he  goes  about,  he  sees  the  Queen  coming,  and 
buzzes : 

"  Hark,  with  my  droning  trumpet  I  boom ; 
The  Queen  is  coming!     Give  room!     Give  room! 
Down  through  your  borders  a  pathway  make. 
For  one  of  the  flowers  the  Queen  will  take." 

Of  course  the  Bee  must  speak  very  loud,  so  that 
all  the  flowers  can  hear  him.  I  think  they  would 
all  whisper  together,  **  The  Queen  is  coming!"  or 
else  ''  The  Queen !  The  Queen ! "  for  they  are 
much  excited  about  it;  therefore,  the  Bee  has  to 
speak  louder  so  that  they  will  all  be  ready  to  receive 
her.  Now  we  see  her  approaching,  smiling  and 
bowing  to  all  her  subjects,  who  all  bow  deeply  as 
she  passes  by.  Here  a  song,  "  Hail  to  the  Queen," 
may  be  introduced.  The  Queen  walks  very  slowly, 
looking  at  each  flower  in  turn.  First  she  comes  to 
the  Lilies  and  says,  "  Fm  w^eary  of  Lilies,"  and  all 
the  lilies  look  greatly  disappointed;  then  she  comes 
to  the  Sweet  Peas,  and  they  look  very  sad.  Yes,  I 
do  think  one  might  cry  a  little.  She  passes  Mig- 
nonette and  the  Poppies,  only  remarking  "  Mig- 
nonette and  gay  Poppies  all  fail  to  please." 
Mignonette  looks  most  unhappy,  and  the  Poppy 
might  frown  and  pout  a  bit,  maybe,  if  she  feels  that 
is  what  she  would  do.  Then  the  Queen  spies  the 
Wild  Rose  and  stops, — "  But  here  is  a  Wild  Rose 
with  petals  of  pink — "     Wild  Rose  is  very  much 


Ii6     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

confused  and  says  timidly:     **  I  came  in  by  mis- 
take " —  but  the  Queen  is  very  kind  and  replies : 

"  No  great  harm,  I  think ! 

You  speak  of  the  country,  of  long  summer  hours, 

Of  dew  and  of  sunshine,  of  shadow  and  showers/' 

You  see,  the  Queen  knows  the  country  outside 
and  likes  it.  Bumble-Bee  is  delighted  and  buzzes 
up  to  Wild  Rose  booming :  "  So  honey-sweet,  she, 
I  can  scarce  keep  away  '' ;  and  now  Prince  Butterfly, 
waving  his  wings  most  gracefully,  flutters  up  to 
Wild  Rose,  saying  politely : 

"  I  have  heard  Will-o'-the-Wisp  and  fairy  folk  say 
That  when  a  wild  rose  doth  her  petals  unfold, 
'Tis  plain  to  be  seen  that  her  heart  is  of  gold/' 

He  crosses  one  wing  over  his  heart  and  bows  gal- 
lantly to  Wild  Rose.  The  Queen  then  chooses 
Wild  Rose  for  the  Queen  of  the  garden,  taking  her 
by  the  hand  and  saying : 

"  Enough !  then  no  longer  I'll  go  on  my  quest 
For  this  is  the  flower  that  1  choose  from  the  rest. 
My  garden  without  her  would  not  be  complete." 

Prince  Butterfly  waves  his  wings  gaily.  "  I  vow 
she  is  charming!  "  he  cries,  and  Bumble-Bee  sturdily 
buzzes :  '^  I  swear  she  is  sv/eet."  This  is  the 
greatest  compliment  the  Bumble-Bee  can  pay  the 
Wild  Rose,  for  he  is  looking  for  sweetness  to  help 
make  his  honey.  Meantime  all  the  flowers  are  look- 
ing and  feeling  very  penitent,  and  hanging  their 
heads  with  shame.  The  Queen  then  takes  Wild 
Rose  by  the  hand  and  leads  her  up  to  a  little  mossy 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  117 

throne  near  the  garden  wall.  Prince  Butterfly  and 
Bumble-Bee  station  themselves  on  either  side,  gently 
furling  and  unfurling  their  wings.  Iris  now  speaks 
in  a  very  sweet  voice,  while  looking  appealingly  at 
Wild  Rose :  "  I  fear  my  fine  raiment  has  rendered 
me  blind.''  Mignonette  bows  her  head,  whispering 
softly:  ''A  garden  may  often  be  narrow,  I  find." 
Lily  steps  toward  the  mossy  throne  and  says  with 
sweet  humility : 

"  While  a  tall  wall  that  hides  all  the  world  from  our 

view 
Is  not  half  so  fine  as  horizon's  wide  blue." 

All  the  flowers  draw  near,  or  stretch  out  their 
arms,  or  kneel  and  say : 

'*  Forgive  us,  oh  Wild  Rose." 

Wild  Rose  replies  very  gently,  standing  on  the 
step  of  the  mossy  throne: 

''  Nay,  what's  to  forgive  ? 
The  past  is  forgotten.     In  peace  let  us  live. 
Content  without  envy  or  rancour  to  grow  — 
For  all  of  us  started  in  Eden,  you  know." 


The  costumes  for  this  charming  little  play  can  be 
very  simple. 

Flowers :  Skirt  of  green  paper  or  silesia,  folded 
so  that  it  stands  out  in  a  petticoat  to  resemble  leaves ; 
legs  and  feet  encased  in  green,  to  resemble  flower 
stalks.  Over  this,  paper  or  silesia,  cut  in  the  shape 
of  the  petals  of  the  flower  represented.  On  the 
head,  a  frilly  cap  of  paper  of  the  same  colour. 


ii8     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Will-o'-the-Wisp :  Black  and  silver,  or  pale  grey 
floating  drapery  of  some  thin,  light  material;  car- 
ries a  tiny  light  or  lantern. 

The  Queen  of  Hearts:  White  robe  and  train; 
red  cardboard  hearts  as  decoration. 

Prince  Butterfly:  A  black,  tight-fitting  timic, 
with  wings  of  some  light,  thin  material  painted  in 
butterfly  hues,  and  with  the  tip  of  each  wing  fas- 
tened to  the  little  fingers. 

Bee :  Black  and  yellow  striped,  tight  fitting  cos- 
tume, black  wings  and  a  little  yellow  cap,  with  black 
antennae  in  front. 

The  play  chosen  for  the  High  School  dramatics 
is  Shakespeare's  "  As  You  Like  It/' 

First,  the  players  are  called  together  and  the 
director  reads  aloud  the  entire  play,  explaining  care- 
fully the  relationship  of  the  characters  one  to  an- 
other, and  making  clear  any  obscure  points  in  the 
text.  After  this  reading  the  director  should  care- 
fully cut  the  play  for  this  special  production;  then 
after  a  round  and  round  reading,  she  may  choose 
the  players  and  assign  the  parts. 

The  entire  first  scene  could  be  cut,  beginning  the 
play  at  Scene  II,  '*  Lawn  before  the  Duke's  palace," 
and  this  scene  itself  can  be  freely  cut.  The  follow- 
ing idea  of  the  work  is  given  only  as  an  example. 
Every  director  should  follow  her  own  ideas. 

When  the  play  opens,  Celia  and  Rosalind  are  dis- 
covered, the  latter  leaning  on  a  broad-topped  wall 
and  gazing  sadly  out  over  the  distant  country. 
Celia  is  seated  on  a  garden  bench  nearby,  busily  en- 
gaged in  tossing  roses  at  her  cousin  to  attract  her 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  119 

attention.  Celia  finally  speaks :  **  I  pray  thee, 
Rosalind,  sweet,  my  coz,  be  merry."  Of  what  is 
Rosalind  thinking  as  she  abstractedly  looks  out  over 
the  country-side?  Probably  of  her  father,  driven 
from  his  dukedom  by  his  younger  brother,  away  off 
there  in  the  Forest  of  Arden,  perhaps  sad  and 
lonely;  a  little,  too,  of  herself  and  her  changed  for- 
tunes, a  dependent  here  in  her  uncle's  court.  Celia 
loves  Rosalind  very  dearly.  Le  Beau  says  of  them: 
"  Whose  loves  are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of 
sisters."  She,  therefore,  tries  to  make  her  cousin 
forget  her  troubles  and  urges  her  to  '*  be  merry.'' 

Rosalind  replies  with  a  little  natural  sigh: 
**  Dear  Celia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am  mistress 
of;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier?  "  That  is, 
for  Celiacs  sake  she  pretends  to  be  even  happier  than 
she  actually  is,  and  asks  how  she  can  be  merrier 
still? 

"  Unless  you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished 
father,  you  must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember  any 
extraordinary  pleasure/' —  she  adds.  These  words 
prove  where  her  mind  has  been. 

Celia  now  rises  with  a  little  gesture  of  sympathy, 
and  goes  to  Rosalind,  and  now  we  have  that  sen- 
tence that  is  such  a  lesson  in  pronouns : 

'*  Herein  I  see  thou  lov'st  me  not  with  the  full 
weight  that  I  love  thee,  li  my  uncle,  thy  banished 
father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  Duke  my  father, 
so  thou  had'st  been  still  with  me,  I  could  have  taught 
my  love  to  take  thy  father  for  mine." 

If  a  player  does  not  understand  this  sentence,  and 
says  it  without  understanding,  all  the  exquisite 
beauty  is  lost  and  it  becomes  almost  comedy.     Celia 


I20     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

must  give  her  meaning  and  point  the  pronouns  by 
emphasis  and  inflection;  she  must  not  gesture  to 
herself  or  RosaHnd  to  indicate  what  she  means. 

RosaHnd,  moved  by  this  loving  speech,  puts  her 
arm  about  her  gentle  cousin,  and  both  girls  walk 
quietly  to  the  garden  bench,  which  stands  right 
centre, —  Rosalind  earnestly  promising :  ''  Well,  I 
will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate  to  rejoice  in 
yours."  They  sit  down  side  by  side.  Celiacs  gen- 
erous nature  is  shown  in  her  next  words.  She  takes 
Rosalind's  hand  and  speaks  strongly  and  with  much 
feeling : 

"  You  know  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I, 
nor  none  is  like  to  have;  and  truly,  when  he  dies, 
thou  shalt  be  his  heir ;  for  what  he  hath  taken  away 
from  thy  father  perforce,  I  will  render  thee  again  in 
affection ;  by  mine  honour,  I  will ;  and  when  I  break 
that  oath,  let  me  turn  monster.  Therefore,  my 
sweet  Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be  merry." 

Celia  means  this  literally  and  her  words  carry 
conviction.  Rosalind  is  taller  and  larger  than 
Celia, —  this  fact  we  learn  from  the  play, —  prob- 
ably a  little  older  and  more  dignified,  but  in  this 
speech  Celia  seems  for  a  moment  the  elder  of  the 
two.  Rosalind  is  much  moved  by  her  cousin's  gen- 
erosity, and  pauses  a  moment  before  replying, 
*'  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise  sports," 
and  she  keeps  her  promise. 

Celia  now  cries  happily,  **  Here  comes  Monsieur 
Le  Beau,"  much  as  one  would  say  *'  Here  comes  the 
postman," —  for  Monsieur  Le  Beau  knows  all  the 
news  and  gossip  of  the  Court  and  is,  therefore,  a 
welcome  diversion. 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  121 

Enter  Monsieur  Le  Beau,  followed  by  Touch- 
stone. Celia  and  Rosalind  rise  and  make  the  cour- 
tesy appropriate  to  the  period.  Monsieur  Le  Beau 
bows  elaborately. 

"  Bon  jour.  Monsieur  Le  Beau.  What's  the 
news?''  Celia  speaks  French  here  in  deference  to 
Le  Beau's  nationality,  although  he  speaks  almost 
perfect  English,  and  also  with  a  spirit  of  playful- 
ness and  an  idea  of  making  fun  of  Monsieur  Le 
Beau's  social  weaknesses.  Monsieur  Le  Beau  is  very 
elegantly  dressed ;  he  has  an  affected,  artificial  man- 
ner, and  a  mincing  gait. 

**  Fair  Princess,  you  have  lost  much  good  sport." 

Notice  that  Le  Beau  speaks  only  to  Celia,  al- 
though, of  course,  he  politely  includes  Rosalind  in 
his  second  bow.  Celia  is  the  social  leader  of  the 
Court ;  hence  her  leadership  in  this  scene. 

As  the  play  develops  and  the  two  women  are 
thrown  on  their  own  resources,  the  strength  of  char- 
acter of  Rosalind  makes  her  the  leader  in  their 
plans  and  doings. 

**  Sport!  Of  what  colour?"  Celia  here  means 
what  kind  of  sport. 

Le  Beau  does  not  quite  understand  her  use  of  the 
word  ''  colour  "  and  replies  vaguely,  **  What  colour, 
Madam!     How  shall  I  answer  you?" 

Rosalind  says  gaily,  ''  As  wit  and  fortune  will." 

Touchstone  now  leaps  upon  the  garden  wall,  and, 
twirling  his  bauble  which  he  always  carries,  remarks 
merrily :  **  Or  as  the  DcvStinies  decree."  Touch- 
stone is  also  making  a  bit  of  fun  at  Monsieur  Le 
Beau's  expense.  Touchstone  is  extremely  graceful, 
quick  in  his  actions,  witty  and  adroit.     The  office  of 


h 


122     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

a  professional  fool  was  very  lucrative;  it  required  a 
particularly  clever  man  to  fill  it,  and  it  was  con- 
sidered an  honourable  calling.  Touchstone  had 
probably  held  his  position  a  long  time, —  perhaps 
had  been  attached  to  the  Court  of  Rosalind's  father 
before  he  was  banished  by  the  present  Duke.  Le 
Beau  pays  no  attention  to  Touchstone,  but  replies 
only  to  the  ladies : 

"  You  amaze  me,  ladies ;  I  would  have  told  you  of 
good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  the  sight  of." 

Celia  now  seats  herself.  Rosalind  sits  beside  her 
and  they  prepare  to  listen  to  the  account  of  the 
wrestling.  Rosalind  urges  gently,  fearing  Mon- 
sieur Le  Beau  may  be  offended  by  her  former  re- 
mark, and  therefore  refuse  to  tell  them  the  story  of 
the  wrestling.  *'  Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the 
wrestling." 

In  Le  Beau's  account  of  the  wrestling,  each  lis- 
tener is  impressed  according  to  his  or  her  individual 
nature.  Rosalind  thinks  of  *'  the  poor  old  man, 
their  father,"  because  her  own  father  is  dear  to  her 
and  she  is  thinking  lovingly  of  him.  She  is,  there- 
fore, deeply  moved  by  the  recital  of  this  old  man's 
grief  over  his  three  sons.  Celia  is  sympathetic  be- 
cause of  the  natural  sympathy  in  her  nature. 
Touchstone  is  merely  amused  that  Le  Beau  should 
call  this  ''  sport,"  and  especially  ''  sport  for  ladies.'' 
Le  Beau  speaks  very  deliberately  and  in  a  rather 
pompous  manner :  — 

"  There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons. 
The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with  Charles,  the 
Duke's  wrestler ;  which  Charles  in  a  moment  threw 
him  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs, —  so  he  served  the 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  123 

second,  and  so  the  third.  Yonder  they  lie ;  the  poor 
old  man,  their  father,  making  such  pitiful  dole  over 
them  that  all  the  beholders  take  his  part  with  weep- 
ing/' 

Rosalind  and  Celia  move  closer  together  during 
this  story,  and  Rosalind  sighs  "  Alas !  "  It  is  this 
recital  that  tinges  all  the  coming  scene  with  Orlando, 
and  makes  Rosalind  and  Celia  so  earnest  in  their 
efforts  to  prevent  Orlando  from  wrestling  with 
Charles. 

Touchstone  slips  down  from  the  wall  and  says,  a 
little  sarcastically :  ^'  But  what  is  the  sport,  Mon- 
sieur, that  the  ladies  have  lost?"  Le  Beau  is 
slightly  embarrassed  by  the  question,  but  replies, 
"  Why  this  that  I  speak  of.''  Touchstone,  twirling 
his  bauble,  retorts :  ^*  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser 
every  day ;  it  is  the  first  time  that  ever  I  heard  break- 
ing of  ribs  was  sport  for  ladies,"  and  he  laughingly 
turns  away. 

Celia  calls  after  him,  "  Or  I,  I  promise  thee,"  as 
she  rises  from  the  bench  with  a  little  sigh.  Rosa- 
lind also  rises  and  addressing  herself  to  Celia,  says 
rather  doubtfully :  — 

**  Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin?  "  Rosalind 
is  not  at  all  sure  that  she  wishes  to  see  it,  but  is  will- 
ing to  do  so  if  Celia  desires  it.  Celia  says :  *'  Yon- 
der sure  they  are  coming;  let  us  now  stay  and  see 
it."  Le  Beau  also  looks  left,  sees  the  court  ap- 
proaching and  says,  '^  You  must,  if  you  stay  here, 
for  here  is  the  place  appointed  for  the  wrestling, 
and  they  are  ready  to  perform  it."  He  walks  with 
great  dignity  across  the  stage  to  Celia  and  Rosalind. 
Now  we  hear  trumpets  sounded  off  stage  to  herald 


124     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

the  approach  of  the  Duke.  The  effect  of  a  trumpet 
can  easily  be  gained  by  a  little  vocal  practice  in 
imitating  the  sounds  of  a  trumpet.  Duke  Frederick 
enters  with  lords,  Orlando,  and  attendants.  Their 
entrance  can  be  very  elaborate  or  very  simple.  If 
elaborate,  there  can  be  a  procession  of  pages,  pos- 
sibly heralds  carrying  trumpets ;  lords  and  ladies  and 
several  attendants;  if  simple,  a  few  gentlemen  and 
ladies  of  the  court,  Orlando,  and  possibly  one  or 
two  attendants. 

Celia  and  Rosalind  courtesy  deeply  to  the  Duke, 
Le  Beau  bows  magnificently.  The  Duke  curtly  ac- 
knowledges their  salutations.  He  is  a  man  with  a 
mean  and  jealous  nature, —  even  Celia  says  he  has 
''  a  rough  and  envious  disposition/' —  and  just  now 
he  is  especially  out  of  sorts  because  he  is  constantly 
hearing  of  many  young  men  who  are  flocking  to  the 
Forest  of  Arden  to  live  there  with  his  banished 
brother.  Toward  Rosalind  he  has  "  ta'en  displeas- 
ure,'' as  Le  Beau  puts  it,  "  grounded  upon  no  other 
argument  but  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  vir- 
tues and  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake."  The 
Duke  delivers  this  rude  speech  to  those  around  him 
as  he  enters: 

*'  Come  on ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be  entreated, 
his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness." 

Rosalind  says  to  Le  Beau,  "  Is  yonder  the  man?  " 
Le  Beau  replies,  *'  Even  he.  Madam." 
Celia  looks  sympathetically  at  the  young  Orlando, 
who,  assisted  by  the  attendants  of  the  Duke,  is  tak- 
ing off  his  sleeveless  jacket  in  preparation  for  the 
coming  trial. 

Celia  says :       "  Alas !  he  is  too  young !     Yet  he 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  125 

looks  successfully."  At  first  Celia  sees  only  his 
youth  and  pities  it,  for  he  must  come  in  contact  with 
the  redoubtable  Charles.  When  she  looks  again, 
however,  she  realizes  that  besides  the  advantage  of 
youth,  he  has  the  look  of  one  who  will  succeed. 

The  Duke  now  approaches  the  seat  near  which 
Rosalind  and  Celia  are  standing,  saying :  "  How 
now,  daughter  and  cousin!  Are  you  crept  hither 
to  see  the  wrestling?"  Rosalind  answers,  **  Ay, 
my  liege,  so  please  you  give  us  leave."  Rosalind  is 
not  aware  of  the  Duke's  feeling  toward  her,  and  the 
Duke  of  course  does  not  show  his  feelings  before 
all  these  people ;  so  he  replies,  fairly  courteously : 

"  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell  you; 
there  is  such  odds  in  the  man.  Speak  to  him,  ladies ; 
see  if  you  can  move  him." 

Celia  says  at  once,  ''  Call  him  hither,  good  Mon- 
sieur Le  Beau." 

Duke  Frederick  agrees :  ''  Do  so ;  Til  not  be  by," 
and  walks  away  to  a  raised  seat  up  right  centre. 
Touchstone  follows  him,  and  sitting  upon  the  step 
of  the  seat,  apparently  tries  to  tell  him  some  witty 
story.  Le  Beau  calls,  at  the  same  time  crossing  to- 
ward Orlando,  ''  Monsieur  the  challenger."  Or- 
lando looks  up  and  crosses  toward  Le  Beau,  who 
continues :  *'  The  Princess  calls  for  you."  Notice 
how  Le  Beau  speaks  of  only  one  Princess,  whereas 
Orlando  speaks,  in  reply  of  "  them."  *'  I  attend 
them  with  all  respect  and  duty."  Le  Beau  now  goes 
up  and  converses  with  the  Duke,  and  Orlando  crosses 
to  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Rosalind  now  addresses  Orlando :  ''  Young 
man,  have  you  challenged  Charles,  the  wrestler?  " 


126     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

Orlando,  modestly  and  with  downcast  eyes,  re- 
plies :  '*  No,  fair  Princess ;  he  is  the  general  chal- 
lenger. I  come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him 
the  strength  of  my  youth." 

Celia  says  gently :  ''  Young  gentleman,  your 
spirits  are  too  bold  for  your  years.  We  pray  you, 
for  your  own  sake,  to  embrace  your  own  safety  and 
give  over  this  attempt." 

Rosalind  adds  her  persuasion  to  Celia's :  "  Do, 
young  sir;  your  reputation  shall  not  therefore  be 
misprised ;  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to  the  Duke  that 
the  wrestling  might  not  go  forward." 

This  speech  of  Rosalind's  shows  her  thoughtful- 
ness.  She  realizes  that  it  might  seem  a  cowardice 
on  Orlando's  part  if  the  wrestHng  was  stopped, 
unless  some  very  strong  and  special  reason  was 
given  for  doing  so.  Orlando  speaks  firmly  and  a 
little  sadly,  showing  by  his  reply  how  deeply  moved 
he  is  by  this  sympathy  and  interest  taken  in  his 
affairs  by  these  lovely  ladies. 

"  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts;  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty  to  deny 
so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  anything.  But  let  your 
fair  eyes  and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial ; 
wherein  if  I  be  foiled,  there  is  but  one  sham'd  that 
was  never  gracious;  if  killed,  but  one  dead  that  is 
willing  to  be  so ;  I  shall  do  my  friends  no  wrong,  for 
I  have  none  to  lament  me ;  the  world  no  injury,  for 
in  it  I  have  nothing;  only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a 
place,  which  may  be  better  supplied  when  I  have 
made  it  empty." 

It  is  probably  this  speech,  showing  the  loneliness 
of  Orlando,  that  first  makes  Rosalind  *'  fall  into  so 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  127 

strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Rowland's  youngest 
son/'  Rosalind  says  very  gently:  "The  little 
strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it  were  with  you  " ; 
and  Celia  says,  not  quite  so  earnestly  but  still  very 
warmly,  '*  And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers." 

The  wrestling  scene  may  now  be  given  on  the 
stage,  provided  one  of  the  players  can  take  the  part 
of  Charles.  It  is  difficult  to  find  a  player  who  is 
able,  physically,  to  act  this  part,  and,  of  course,  with 
a  caste  of  all  girls  it  is  impossible. 

The  scene  can  be  given  quite  as  effectively  off  the 
stage,  arranged  in  this  way : 

The  Duke  rises  and  says:  "Come  on,"  leading 
the  way  out.  All  the  men  follow,  leaving  Rosalind, 
Celia,  and  the  ladies  of  the  Court  on  the  stage. 
They  apparently  watch  the  wrestling  going  on  out- 
side and  are  much  excited.  Rosalind  says  presently, 
in  a  tense  voice :  "  Now  Hercules  be  thy  speed, 
young  man." 

Celia,  clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands,  cries : 
"  I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong  fel- 
low by  the  leg." 

A  pause  ensues  filled  by  the  excited  pantomime  of 
those  on  the  stage ;  then  Rosalind  exclaims :  "  Oh, 
excellent,  young  man !  "  Another  pause  follows, 
interrupted  by  Celia:  "  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in 
mine  eye  I  can  tell  who  should  down."  A  shout  is 
heard  from  outside.  "  Charles  is  thrown !  "  The 
two  girls  are  trium,phantly  joyous.  The  men  re- 
turn. 

The  Duke,  walking  with  Orlando,  inquires, 
"  What  is  thy  name,  young  man?  " 

Orlando    courteously    replies :     "  Orlando,     my 


128     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

liege;     the    youngest    son    of     Sir    Rowland    de 
Boys." 

All  the  Court  are  much  excited  and  listen  eagerly, 
thinking,  of  course,  that  the  Duke  will  reward  Or- 
lando with  some  handsome  gift,  but  are  much  cha- 
grined and  disappointed  at  his  changed  expression 
and  churlish  reply: 

"  I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man  else ; 

The  world  esteemed  thy  father  honourable 

But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy; 

Thou  shouldst  have  better  pleased  me  with  this  deed 

Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 

But  fare  thee  well,"  and,  as  he  turns  to  go, 

'*  I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father." 

During  this  ungenerous  speech  the  lords  and  la- 
dies look  at  one  another  with  marked  disapproval, 
and  as  Duke  Frederick  prepares  to  go,  follow  him 
reluctantly  and  disappointedly. 

This  scene  must  be  worked  out  with  much  care, 
as  the  actors  must  feel  the  entire  change  of  key  in 
the  emotion  of  the  scene,  and  show  their  various 
feelings  by  their  changes  of  expression. 

Orlando  turns  away  and  begins  to  put  on  his 
jacket,  preparing  to  depart.  He  is  naturally  very 
much  abashed  and  somewhat  indignant.  Celia  and 
Rosalind  do  not  follow  the  other  ladies,  but  stand 
together  watching  Orlando.     Finally  Celia  speaks: 

*'  Gentle  cousin,  let  us  go  thank  him  and  encour- 
age him.  My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposi- 
tion sticks  me  at  heart." 

Orlando  is  now  about  to  go,  but  Celia  comes  for- 
ward to  him  saying  graciously :     ''  Sir,  you  have 


Analysis  of  Two  Scenes  129 

well  deserved.  If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in 
love  but  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  all  promise, 
your  mistress  shall  be  happy."  Orlando  is  very 
grateful,  and  when  Rosalind  comes  forward  he  in- 
voluntarily kneels  as  she  takes  a  chain  from  her 
neck.     Lightly  throwing  it  over  his  head,  she  says : 

**  Wear  this  for  me,  one  out  of  suits  with  for- 
tune. That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand 
lacks  means."  She  pauses,  and  Celia  touches  her 
gently  on  the  arm  to  recall  her.  Rosalind  imme- 
diately responds  with,  **  Shall  we  go,  coz  ?  "  Or- 
lando rises  and  bows  and  both  girls  slightly  curtsey. 
Celia  says,  "Ay"  (this  to  Rosalind),  then  to  Or- 
lando, ''  Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman,"  and  leads 
the  shy  and  reluctant  Rosalind  toward  the  exit. 
Orlando  is  so  moved  that  he  cannot  speak,  but,  fight- 
ing down  his  emotion,  says  to  himself,  *'  Can  I  not 
say  *  I  thank  you  '  ?  My  better  parts  are  all  thrown 
down,  and  that  which  here  stands  up  is  but  a  quin- 
tain, a  mere  lifeless  block." 

Rosalind  stops  at  the  door,  holding  Celiacs  hand. 
Shyly  she  says,  "  He  calls  us  back.  I'll  ask  him 
what  he  would."  Of  course,  Orlando  has  not 
called,  but  Rosalind  sees  his  embarrassment  and 
with  gentle  courtesy  tries  to  help  him  by  saying, 
"Did  you  call,  sir?  Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well 
and  overthrown  more  than  your  enemies."  Celia 
pulls  at  Rosalind's  hand,  "Will  you  go,  coz?" 
Rosalind  replies,  rather  impatient  at  Celia's  insist- 
ence, "  Have  with  you."  And  then  to  the  speech- 
less Orlando  she  says,  "  Fare  you  well." 

Both  girls  curtsey  as  they  go  off  and  Orlando 
instinctively  bows,  but  seems  rooted  to  the  ground, 


130     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

gazing  after  the  two  girls.  When  they  are  quite 
gone  he  moves  toward  their  exit,  as  if  looking  after 
them,  and  then  says : 

''  I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 

O  poor  Orlando,  thou  art  overthrown ! 

Or  Charles  or  something  weaker  masters  thee." 

At  this  moment  Le  Beau  re-enters  and  counsels  Or- 
lando to  leave,  owing  to  the  displeasure  of  the  Duke. 
This  ends  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   USE   OF   THE   VOICE   IN   DEVELOPING   A    PLAY 

Text  —  Reading  —  Speech  —  Breath  —  Articulation  —  Dic- 
tion —  Word  colouring  —  Emphasis. 

Text:  After  choosing  your  play,  one  of  the 
first  things  to  be  considered  is  the  text.  In  the  text 
are  the  facts  that  are  assembled  to  make  your  play. 
It  is  in  your  text  that  you  find  materials  to  make 
your  play.  To  use  a  homely  simile,  it  is  like  mak- 
ing a  bouquet:  you  assemble  your  flowers  and 
leaves  and  put  them  together,  and  presently  you 
have  a  bouquet.  The  bouquet  is  your  play,  as  it 
were.  To  assemble  your  facts,  you  ask  questions: 
What  does  the  text  tell?  What  does  it  leave  open 
to  probability?  What  to  possibility?  The  text 
says,  "  I  am  your  king."  Merely  words.  Is  there 
a  speaker?  Yes.  What  does  the  text  give  out? 
That  he  is  a  king.  Probability  is,  he  is  grown  up ; 
possibility,  he  might  not  be.  Immediately  interest 
awakens  and  all  sorts  of  possibilities  cluster  around 
the  idea  conveyed  by  the  words.  By  reading  on 
still  further,  searching  and  questioning,  and  by  close 
analysis,  we  build  up  the  idea  until  finally  the  play- 
ers are  doing  the  scene,  instead  of  just  reading  it. 
They  are  beginning  impersonation, —  suggesting  the 
person,  acting  like  the  person.     Then  comes  char- 

131 


132     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

acterization,  which  is  the  acting.  By  working  out 
the  idea  conveyed  by  the  text, —  the  inner  thought 
of  the  part, —  the  player  has  become  the  character 
itself,  and  the  result  is  one  of  those  satisfying  per- 
formances, full  of  educational  benefit  to  the  actor 
and  of  entertainment  value  to  the  audience. 

Reading:  In  reading  the  text,  the  whole  task 
of  the  reader  is  to  read  the  lines  for  the  listener. 
The  listener  must  understand.  Unless  you  get  your 
message  over,  so  that  the  idea  is  clearly  conveyed 
to  your  audience,  you  have  not  succeeded.  One 
way  to  accomplish  this  is  to  make  sure  that  the 
reader  fully  and  completely  understands  the  play 
and  the  lines.  Questions  bring  this  understanding. 
What  is  the  play  about, —  its  subject  matter;  its 
theme?  What  is  the  story  of  the  play, —  the  plot? 
What  do  the  characters  have  to  do  with  the  theme  ? 
They  develop  the  theme  through  characterization. 
What  do  the  characters  have  to  do  with  the  plot? 
They  develop  the  story  through  the  action. 

In  reading,  the  object  is  to  bring  out  the  play. 
The  play  must  tell  its  story,  and  the  reader  must 
tell  it.  This  is  the  main  purpose  in  reading.  Some- 
times, when  the  analysis  of  a  character  is  not  per- 
fectly clear  to  the  player,  an  excellent  plan  is  to  read 
the  one  character  through  an  entire  scene  or  play, 
and  follow  his  continuity  of  thought.  Take,  for 
instance,  Viola's  scene  with  the  Captain,  in 
"  Twelfth  Night,"  Act  I,  Sc.  2. 


What  country,  friends,  is  this  ?  " 
Know'st  thou  this  country  ? '' 
Who  eroverns  here  ?  " 


"  Who  governs  here 


The  Use  of  the  Voice  133 

"What  is  his  name?" 
"  Is  he  married  ?  " 
"  Can  I  serve  him  ?  " 

Who  is  Olivia?  Can  I  serve  her?  Finding  she 
cannot,  her  final  decision  is,  ^'  I  will  serve  this 
Duke." 

The  whole  trend  of  Viola's  thought  is  here 
shown:  What  shall  I  do?  How  shall  I  live?  It 
is  the  dominant  note  in  the  scene, —  running  all 
through  it. 

Speech:  The  next  point  seems,  naturally,  speech. 
The  difference  between  **  speech  "  and  **  reading  " 
is  that  reading  names  the  words  on  the  page,  and 
these  words,  by  analysis,  are  made  into  speech. 
Speech  is,  therefore,  a  form  of  expression,  and  the 
form  it  takes  is  determined  by  the  meaning  con- 
veyed to  the  speaker  by  the  thought  in  the  words. 
To  put  it  another  way:  the  speaker  analyses  the 
words  and  sentences  he  is  about  to  read  or  speak, 
until  the  meaning  or  idea  behind  the  words  is  per- 
fectly clear  to  his  mind,  and  then  he  says  those 
words  and  sentences  in  such  a  way  as  to  convey 
clearly  the  meaning  to  the  listener,  and  so  express 
the  author's  idea.  Of  course  this  does  not  refer  to 
spontaneous  speech,  but  the  speech  used  in  dramat- 
ics or  text  speech. 

Breath  vocalized  is  speech.  We  must,  therefore, 
first  consider  breath. 

Breath:  We  have  two  sorts  of  breath:  the 
breath  that  merely  keeps  us  alive, —  the  involuntary 
and  normal  breath;  —  and  the  breath  that  is  used 


134    Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

for  speaking  or  singing, —  or  the  forceful,  volun- 
tary breath.  Involuntary  breathing  takes  place 
without  conscious  effort,  working  unconsciously  and 
continually  as  long  as  life  lasts.  Voluntary  breath- 
ing involves  a  conscious  expansion  of  the  organs 
for  inspiration  and  expiration,  using  such  force  as 
the  speech  requires.  Life,  health,  energy,  voice  are 
all  dependent  upon  breathing.  The  motor-power  of 
voice  is  breath. 

Breath  changes  with  the  feeling.  There  is  the 
short,  quick  breath  of  fear;  the  panting  breath  of 
the  hunted;  the  fierce,  quick-drawn,  angry  breath; 
the  breath  that  packs  the  body  full  when  a  fight  is 
imminent;  the  sobbing  breath  of  grief;  the  laboured 
breath  of  weakness  or  fatigue;  and  many  more. 
All  these  are  part  of  expression  and  come  before 
speech.  The  voice  used  under  any  of  these  condi- 
tions is  of  the  same  quality  as  the  breath.  The 
words  may  be  few.  The  fear  breath  may  vocalize 
in  an  agonized  sound,  which  presently  forms  the 
words  "  Help !  help !  "  The  pleased  child  may  in- 
hale deeply  with  surprise  and  joy,  the  voice  may 
come  in  a  chortling  gurgle,  and  presently  words 
form,  such  as  ''  Good,  good."  Speech  communi- 
cates that  which  we  have  already  known  and  felt. 
We  must  have  the  feeling  first,  then  breath,  and 
lastly,  speech.  In  real  life  speech  is  spontaneous. 
You  do  not  know  precisely  what  words  you  use, 
neither  does  the  listener  know  the  words  you  use; 
you  give  out  only  the  idea.  In  text-speech,  the 
words  are  learned  by  heart,  but  they  seem  to  be 
words  used  for  the  first  time,  and,  as  in  real  life, 
convey  to  the  listener  only  the  thought  and  feeling 


The  Use  of  the  Voice  135 

meant  by  them.  Speech  serves  the  mental  concept, 
—  the  idea.  It  does  not  begin  to  develop  until  we 
know  what  we  think.  Sound  may  come,  but  not 
speech.  Breath  comes  first, —  it  belongs  to  the  vital 
part  of  us.  Voice  comes  next, —  it  belongs  to  the 
emotional.  Words  come  last, —  they  belong  to  the 
mental.  The  three  are  represented  in  speech. 
Therefore,  if  you  only  name  the  word  on  the  page, 
you  give  only  the  mental.  You  must  have  the 
whole  in  acting,  or  else  it  is  not  good  acting.  You 
must  have  the  thought  first,  and  in-take  the  breath 
for  it,  then  summon  the  proper  voice  for  it,  then 
give  the  words  for  it  in  speech.  The  word  col- 
ours the  voice.  If  I  am  enraged,  my  voice  becomes 
guttural  and  hard.  If  I  am  loving,  my  voice  be- 
comes soft  and  sounds  Hke  a  sort  of  chant.  If 
you  will  listen  to  a  mother  talking  to  her  baby  in 
the  next  room,  you  may  not  distinguish  the  words 
she  uses,  but  the  voice  will  softly  intone  the  vowels, 
gently  caressing  them,  and  the  consonants  will 
hardly  sound  at  all.     It  is  a  love  chant. 

To  remember  words  in  the  text,  do  not  stop  and 
try  to  drive  the  words  in;  just  go  back  to  the  idea 
that  gave  the  feeling  for  the  words,  and  work  on 
from  there. 

Speech  must  seem  spontaneous.  Pupils  must 
cease  as  soon  as  possible  merely  to  read  the  text, 
and  this  can  be  done  by  analysis,  to  bring  out  the 
idea;  then  the  words  will  flow  freely  and  naturally. 
Keep  the  player  full  by  analysis,  so  that  speech  may 
overflow.  The  analysis  makes  the  thought,  or  inner 
drama,  from  which  speech  that  rings  true  must 
come.     This  inner  drama  is  what  the  character  in 


136     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

the  play  is  thinking,  not  necessarily  what  is  said  in 
the  Hnes  of  the  play,  but  what  is  thought  by  the 
character.  An  excellent  plan  to  get  this  thought- 
action,  is  to  write  on  the  margin  of  the  play,  next 
to  the  printed  text,  the  thoughts  of  the  character 
who  is  speaking.  This  will  give  the  inner  drama. 
This  inner  drama  must  be  complete,  the  players 
must  be  held  back,  the  thoughts  of  the  character 
must  be  sifted  out,  until  finally  thought  is  complete; 
not  until  thought  is  complete  must  the  player  speak. 
Speech  is  the  final  expression.  To  make  text 
speech  like  spontaneous  speech,  so  animate  the  play- 
ers with  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  character 
speaking  that  the  text  satisfies  the  player  as  does 
spontaneous  speech. 

Articulation:  Articulation  is  here  considered 
only  as  a  form  of  dramatic  expression.  The 
amount  of  force  we  use  in  the  articulation  of  a 
word  reveals  the  thought  back  of  the  word.  Words 
are  divided  into  consonant  sounds  and  vowel 
sounds.  The  vowels  represent  the  softer  emotions. 
The  words  yield  to  them,  as  it  were.  Consonants 
represent  the  harder  emotions, —  the  unyielding 
feeling  in  the  words.  We  emphasize  the  vowels 
when  we  are  loving  and  kind;  we  emphasize  the 
consonants  when  we  are  angry.  An  explosive  ut- 
terance of  the  consonants  gives  out  a  sense  of  con- 
tempt, anger  or  disgust.  In  the  use  of  the  words 
"  You  dog !  "  an  emphasis  on  the  "  d  "  makes  it 
much  more  scathing.  In  ''  Mary,  please  come ! '' 
prolonging  the  vowel  sounds,  makes  it  appealing. 


The  Use  of  the  Voice  137 

*'  Mary,  come  down  stairs ! "     Holding  the   con- 
sonants, makes  it  imperative. 

Diction:  Diction  is  also  a  form  of  expression. 
For  example,  the  king's  diction  in  the  play  must 
be  perfect,  because  we  have  come  to  feel  he  is  the 
highest  development  of  culture  and  refinement.  It 
is  from  the  acting  point  only  that  we  are  consider- 
ing it.  Whereas  Johnnie  in  his  own  person  may 
say,  "  I  am  yer  king,  an'  shull  fight  t'  th'  las'  bret," 
as  a  king  he  must  say  "  I  am  your  king  and  shall 
fight  to  the  last  breath,"  as  part  of  his  character, 
refinement  and  education.  Incidentally,  Johnnie 
also  improves  his  English  speech. 

Do  not  nag  a  player  about  his  diction.  If  you 
do,  it  will  develop  self -consciousness.  Gradually 
lead  him  to  pronounce  his  words  correctly,  and  do 
it  by  indirect  means  as  much  as  possible.  If  you 
constantly  correct  a  player  in  his  pronunciation  of 
certain  words,  and  draw  his  attention  to  them,  he 
will  almost  invariably  go  back  to  his  original  pro- 
nunciation on  the  night  of  the  performance,  owing 
to  nervousness  and  self -consciousness  about  these 
special  words.  Once  in  a  while,  if  necessary, 
change  a  word  in  the  text  to  another,  when  a  spe- 
cial word  annoys  the  player.  If  the  cast  need 
work  in  diction,  take  it  as  a  regular  lesson,  but  do 
not  point  out  the  words  in  connection  with  the  lines 
of  the  play.  A  good  plan  is  to  make  a  list  of  the 
difficult  words  and  have  a  drill  with  all  the  players 
on  all  the  words,  whether  they  occur  in  the  indi- 
vidual parts  or  not.     This  is  a  great  help  to  all  the 


/./ 


138     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

cast,  and  makes  those  whose  diction  is  poor  feel  less 
conspicuous. 

Word  colouring  and  emphasis:  This  important 
part  of  the  work  embraces  a  wide  field.  First,  the 
word  must  be  mentally,  emotionally  and  pictorially, 
as  it  were,  understood,  in  order  to  bring  out  its  full 
meaning  in  a  sentence.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
word  ''  rack  "  as  used  in  '*  King  Lear.''  Kent  says, 
when  Lear  is  dying : 

"  He  hates  him 

That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer." 

Of  course,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  the  "rack'' 
meant  something.  An  actor  of  his  time  could  put 
the  necessary  feeling  into  the  word  to  give  it  the 
fullest  meaning,  but  in  this  day  we  must  necessarily 
describe  its  horrors  in  order  to  colour  the  word  as 
fully  as  Kent,  in  the  play,  would  have  coloured  it. 
When  a  player  has  charming  words,  with  long 
liquid  vowels,  such  as  "  California,"  "  glorious," 
"  Romeo,"  "  lovely,"  they  must  be  uttered  in  such  a 
way  as  to  bring  out  their  musical  intonation  and 
convey  their  beauty.  Again  in  such  words  as 
''  knell,"  "  toll,"  etc.,  the  bell  sounds  must  be  heard 
in  the  voice.  The  lulling  effect  can  be  strongly 
brought  out  in  the  verses  in  "  A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  by  softly  clinging  to  the  vowels: 

"  Philomel,  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby, 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby." 


The  Use  of  the  Voice  139 

Many  of  us  have  heard  the  sound  of  galloping 
in  an  effective  reading  of  Robert  Browning's  poem 
beginning : 

"  I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris  and  he, 
I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three ; 
*  Good  speed ! '  cried  the  watch  as  the  gate  bolts  un- 
drew; 
'  Speed ! '  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through." 

Significant  pauses  help  a  great  deal  in  bringing 
out  the  meaning  of  words,  as,  for  instance,  in  the 
scene  between  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth : 

Macbeth  :  My  dearest  love,  Duncan  comes  here 
tonight. 

Lady  Macbeth:    And  when  (pause)  goes  hence? 
Macbeth  :     Tomorrow  (pause)  as  he  purposes. 

Each  pause  is  full  of  colour  and  expression.  A 
pause,  however,  must  always  be  a  living  pause;  it 
must  not  be  just  a  pause  to  mark  time.  Often  a 
player  will  fail  absolutely  to  get  the  important  point 
across,  by  stressing  or  colouring  the  wrong  word, 
or  by  failing  to  give  the  proper  inflection.  He  will 
lay  great  stress  upon  a  preposition  or  an  unimport- 
ant verb,  and  it  is  most  difficult  to  make  him 
change.  It  can  never  be  done  by  merely  repeating 
it  over  and  over,  but  only  by  going  back  to  the  anal- 
ysis of  the  idea.  In  producing  the  fairy  play,  **  The 
Golden  Goose,"  for  instance,  the  boy  who  played 
the  part  of  Jack,  the  youngest  brother,  came  on 
the  stage  bearing  the  golden  goose.  His  entrance 
line  was,  "  It  was  a  golden  goose,''  and,  for  some 
strange   reason   he   emphasized   zvas,     **  It   was   a 


I40     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

golden  goose,"  said  he.  This  emphasis  was  point- 
less for  there  had  been  no  mention  whatever  of 
controversy  about  the  goose.  The  director  imme- 
diately asked  the  question,  "  What  was  it  Jack 
found?"  The  boy  answered  "It  was  a  golden 
goose,"  in  a  perfectly  natural  tone  of  voice  and 
with  the  right  word  emphasized. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BODY   AS    AN    INSTRUMENT   IN    AMATEUR   DRA- 
MATICS:    ITS    USE,    FREEDOM,    AND   CONTROL 

The  body  a  physical  mechanism  —  Voluntary  and  involuntary 
movements  —  Actions  expressive  of  the  dominating  emo- 
tion —  Degrees  of  susceptibility  of  players  —  Difference  in 
expressions  of  the  same  emotion  —  Origin  of  expression 

—  Examples  from  Darwin  —  Expression  a  part  of  feeling 

—  Developing  sympathy  in  a  player  —  Self-consciousness 

—  Spontaneous  performances  —  Enlarging  the  player's 
horizon  —  Spoken  language  —  Limitations  of  imitation  — 
Value  of  "  letting  the  player  alone." 

Note.  All  words  such  as  "physical  mechanism,"  "volun- 
tary and  involuntary  movements,"  "  final  common  path,"  "  di- 
rect action,"  in  quotaton  marks,  are  the  technical  and  scien- 
tific terms.  It  seems  wise  to  use  them  in  order  not  only  to 
be  correct  but  to  facilitate  future  reading. 

Until  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago,  the  charm  that 
amateur  dramatics  had  for  the  players  themselves, 
although  an  acknowledged  fact,  was  neither  anal- 
ysed nor  utilized.  Since  then,  however,  it  has  be- 
come an  established  truth  that  the  simplest  and 
surest  way  to  attract  and  hold  the  interest  of  chil- 
dren and  young  people  generally  is  through  the 
dramatic  sense.  This  fact  having  gained  ground 
with  astonishing  rapidity,  there  is  yet  an  important 
side  of  amateur  dramatics  that  is  still  little  under- 
stood and  given  little  consideration, —  the  great  ele- 
mental truth  that  the  body  responds  automatically 

141 


142     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

to  any  given  emotion, —  that  it  can  be  trusted  to  give 
unaided  the  right  expression  of  an  emotion,  if  the 
right  idea  is  implanted  in  the  mind  of  the  player; 
that  it  is  never  necessary  for  a  dramatic  director  to 
show  how  to  make  a  gesture  or  how  to  read  a  line ; 
in  fact,  that  the  method  of  imitation  and  demon- 
stration but  hinders  the  development  of  a  natural, 
spontaneous  performance.  Many  realize  the  neces- 
sity or  advisability  of  "  letting  the  players  alone '' 
but  do  not  know  that  the  reasons  for  doing  so  are 
fundamental  laws  of  the  body  and  its  expressions. 
Perhaps  the  most  important  of  these  laws,  as  re- 
gards amateur  dramatics,  is  included  in  the  modern 
theory,  accepted  by  most  eminent  physicians  and 
surgeons,  of  the  body  as  a  "  physical  mechanism/' 
Just  like  any  other  piece  of  intricate  machinery,  ac- 
complishing the  needs  for  which  it  is  created  when 
given  the  necessary  fuel  or  stimulus,  **  man  should 
be  considered  as  a  mechanism  whose  reactions  under 
a  given  set  of  conditions  are  as  inevitable  as  are  the 
reactions  of  any  other  mechanism,  such  as  a  loco- 
motive, for  example.''  Fuel  is  as  necessary  to  the 
human  body  as  it  is  to  any  other  machine.  Just  as 
coal  is  used  by  the  engine  of  a  locomotive,  so  food, 
when  taken  into  the  body,  is  utilized  by  the  "  kinetic 
system,"  the  group  of  organs  in  the  body  which 
transforms  food  into  muscular  action,  emotion,  and 
body  heat.  It  may  be  compared  to  the  motor  of  an 
automobile.  This  system  actually  makes  the  differ- 
ent fluids  that  not  only  sustain  life  and  make  the 
framework  of  the  body,  but  that  cause  all  physical 
action, —  the  "  voluntary  movements,"  as  they  are 
called,  such  as  walking,  eating,  speaking  and  the 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  143 

like,  and  the  "  involuntary  movements,"  such  as 
breathing,  digesting,  and  trembling. 

The  "  voluntary  movements ''  are  those  con- 
trolled by  the  will,  by  the  desire  to  do  a  certain 
thing,  such  as  walking,  eating,  speaking.  The 
"  involuntary  movements  "  are  made  without  being 
directed  by  an  intention,  such  as  breathing,  blush- 
ing, trembling,  and  it  is  not  only  impossible  to  sup- 
press them  by  desiring  to  do  so,  but  they  cannot  be 
brought  into  action  simply  by  the  will  alone.  On 
the  other  hand,  when  the  will  is  temporarily  or  per- 
manently weakened,  the  voluntary  muscles  fail  be- 
fore the  involuntary  ones.  For  this  reason  it  is 
impossible  to  prevent  the  heart  from  beating  rap- 
idly under  a  given  stimulus,  or  tears  from  coming 
into  the  eyes,  for  both  the  heart  and  glands  are  £[ 
wholly  independent  of  the  will.  The  chest  may 
heave  and  the  nostrils  quiver  against  the  will,  for 
the  movements  of  respiration  are  only  in  part  vol- 
untary. Even  the  lips  sometimes  refuse  to  act  un- 
der the  direction  of  the  will,  and  the  voice  cannot 
respond.  By  knowledge  and  practice,  an  actor  may 
be  able  to  use  any  of  his  "  voluntary  movements '' 
at  will  and  give  adequate  expression  to  any  emotion 
so  that  the  spectator  may  recognize  it  and  under- 
stand what  he  is  expressing,  but  this  almost  perfect 
technique  often  fails  to  move  an  audience.  They 
realize  that  the  actor  leaves  them  cold  but  do  not 
know  that  it  is  because  he  is  giving  them  only  a  part 
of  what  his  body  is  capable  of  expressing.  When 
he  is  inspired  with  the  thought  and  emotion  of  the 
character,  the  excited  nervous  system  forces  the 
"  involuntary  movements  "  of  the  body  into  activ- 


144    Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

ity  also.  It  is  only  then  that  an  audience  is  stirred 
by  a  complete  interpretation  of  a  situation  or  the 
portrayal  of  an  emotion. 

When  a  player  comes  into  a  dramatic  instructor's 
hands,  the  ''  kinetic  system/'  and  the  energy  thus 
created,  is  supposed  to  be  working  normally  and  to 
be  ready  for  impressions  and  actions.  Her  prob- 
lem is  how  to  direct  this  energy  to  gain  the  best 
results,  not  only  for  the  good  of  the  performance 
but  for  the  individual  player  as  well.  It  is  the 
brain  that  directs  the  *'  voluntary  movement  "  of  the 
body  and  causes  action,  but  before  even  that  di- 
rection takes  place,  the  brain  itself  has  to  be  acted 
upon  and  that  is  done  by  "  environment,"  by  which 
is  meant  all  the  influences  that  surround  an  indi- 
vidual in  life.  If  there  were  no  influences  around  a 
physical  body  there  would  be  no  action  whatever  in 
that  body  —  it  would  become  inert.  The  body 
needs  a  stimulus  of  some  kind  to  cause  action,  and 
usually  the  greater  the  stimulus,  that  is,  the  more 
the  surroundings  affect  the  individual,  the  greater 
the  action.  Delsarte  says  "  Motion  is  the  language 
of  the  emotions."  How  does  the  influence  of  what 
is  going  on  around  us  reach  the  brain  ?  By  means 
of  the  "  sense  organs,"  seeing,  hearing,  tasting, 
smelling,  touching,  any  one  of  which  sends  a  direct 
message  to  the  brain,  if  unmolested  by  any  other 
and  stronger  message.  The  result  of  this  first  and 
strongest  message  will  cause  the  body  to  act;  that 
is,  any  idea  that  gains  control  of  the  straight  road 
from  the  senses  to  the  brain,  the  path  of  action,  or 
what  is  known  as  the  ''  final  common  path,"  will  not 
only  predominate  in  the  expression  but  will  exclude 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  145 

the  expression  of  all  other  emotions.  By  the  same 
means,  when  the  emotion  fitting  the  situation  and 
character  in  a  play  dominates  the  mind  of  the  player, 
and  so  gets  control  of  the  "  final  common  path/' 
self -consciousness,  the  besetting  sin  of  most  players, 
and  other  smaller  yet  distracting  emotions,  are  en- 
tirely displaced,  for  only  one  emotion,  if  of  suffi- 
cient force,  can  pass  over  this  **  final  common  path  '' 
at  one  time  from  the  sense  organs  to  the  brain. 
The  dominant  emotion  in  the  brain  always  results 
in  action  expressive  of  that  emotion,  not  only  in  the 
"  voluntary  movements,"  which  the  brain  controls, 
but  also  in  the  "  involuntary  movements,''  over 
which  the  brain  has  little  or  no  control. 

Ordinarily  life  runs  along  in  a  peaceful,  quiet 
routine,  and  the  physical  actions  necessary  to  that 
life  are  brought  about  through  this  system  of  in- 
troducing emotions  to  the  brain  through  the  senses 
and  the  "  final  common  path."  When  this  routine 
is  interrupted  by  some  intense  stimulation  or  ex- 
citement, what  actually  happens  ?  The  '*  kinetic 
system,"  which  transforms  food  into  energy,  is  im- 
pelled to  greater  activity,  and  there  is  an  actual  in- 
crease in  all  the  fluids  of  the  body,  and  so  an  in- 
crease of  energy,  and  there  follows  increased  action 
of  some  sort.  In  order  that  this  energy  shall  be 
utilized  to  express  the  feelings  and  emotions  needed 
by  the  character  and  the  situation  in  the  play,  the 
necessity  for  directing  it  correctly  becomes  more  and 
more  apparent.  This  energy  may,  of  course,  de- 
velop into  repressed,  unexpressed  emotion, —  a  state 
of  mind  and  body  that  should  be  back  of  all  re- 
pressed acting,  but  that  is  not  advisable  for  amateur 


146     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

players,  for  the  expression  of  emotion  in  some  kind 
of  muscular  action  is  a  great  relief  and  of  more  edu- 
cational value. 

No  one  can  overestimate  the  value  of  gaining  con- 
trol of  the  "  final  common  path/'  or  the  "  infallibil' 
ity  ''  of  these  laws  of  the  body  and  expression.  The 
most  wonderful  and  convincing  examples  are  being 
given  every  day  in  the  war.  Soldiers  are  so  dom- 
inated by  an  exhilaration  of  victory,  or  a  realization 
of  danger,  perhaps  by  a  feeling  of  fear,  that  no 
other  emotion  can  gain  access  to  the  "  final  common 
path."  Wounds  and  distressing  conditions  of  all 
kinds,  which  otherwise  would  doubtless  cause  most 
frightful  suffering,  are  not  felt  at  all  until  the  fight 
is  over  or  there  is  safety  or  comparative  quiet. 
This  does  not  mean  that  the  smaller  emotions  which 
are  pushed  aside  by  the  dominating  emotion  are  de- 
stroyed, for  no  impression  that  we  receive  in  the 
brain  is  ever  lost,  even  though  it  passes  out  of  our 
memory.  It  disappears  into  our  '*  subconscious 
mind,"  from  whence  it  may  emerge  at  any  unex- 
pected moment  and  affect  our  actions.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  the  '*  dramatic  instinct,"  with  which 
we  deal  in  all  dramatic  work,  may  be  the  connecting 
link  between  the  brain  and  the  **  subconscious  mind." 
If  that  is  true,  it  explains  the  "  inspiration,"  which 
is  an  apparent  fact  in  the  best  acting,—  that  unex- 
plained power  of  the  "  inspired  "  actor  to  call  up, 
almost  at  will,  unseen  forces,  and  to  achieve  results 
far  beyond  the  usual  ability  of  his  intelligence  and 
technique.  He  may,  in  fact,  have  only  more  power 
over  his  dramatic  instinct  and  be  able  literally  to 
use  it  as  we  use  our  hand  in  writing  or  our  feet  in 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  147 

walking.  Some  such  explanation  might  cover 
the  child  prodigy  in  mathematics,  music,  and  the 
like. 

If  this  response  of  the  body  to  the  right  stimula- 
tion is  so  exact  and  infallible,  then  why  is  the  re- 
sponse so  much  quicker  in  one  player  than  in  an- 
other ?  There  is  at  the  entrance  to  every  one's  brain 
what  is  known  in  medicine  as  the  "  threshold," 
which  any  emotion  has  to  cross  before  it  can  enter 
into  the  brain  and  be  turned  into  action.  As  water 
will  wear  away  a  stone,  this  "  threshold  "  becomes 
lower  and  lower  upon  repetition  of  the  same  emo- 
tion. No  two  players  can  possibly  be  equally  sus- 
ceptible to  the  same  impressicin,  because  the  emotions 
and  surroundings  of  their  entire  former  lives  were, 
of  necessity,  so  diverse.  It  is  exactly  like  learning 
a  lesson.  The  more  times  it  is  gone  over  the  easier 
it  is.  In  the  same  way  the  dramatic  director  will 
find  her  players  responding  more  and  more  quickly 
to  her  appeal.  Dramatic  directors  will  find  some 
persons  very  susceptible  (that  is,  their  "threshold '' 
is  naturally  very  low)  to  pain  and  to  fear  and  to 
other  undesirable  qualities,  and  it  becomes  the  di- 
rector's business  in  educational  dramatics  so  to  use 
the  emotions  and  feelings  of  the  characters  por- 
trayed in  the  play  as  to  lower  or  raise  the  player's 
"  threshold,"  or  susceptibility,  to  such  emotions  as 
may  seem  best  for  his  permanent  development  and 
growth  in  life.  Just  as  the  most  complex  and  diffi- 
cult movements  of  the  body  can  in  time  be  per- 
formed by  athletes  and  acrobats  without  the  least 
effort  or  consciousness,  so  the  "  threshold  "  of  the 
mind  can  be  "  lowered  "  by  repetition  to  admit  cer- 


148     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

tain  feelings  and  emotions  more  quickly  and  easily. 
Physiologists  say  that ''  the  conducting  power  of  the 
nervous  fibres  increases  with  the  frequency  of  the 
excitement,"  which  applies  to  sensation  and  feeling 
as  well  as  to  motion.  Darwin  gives  as  an  example, 
the  case  of  a  man  going  out  of  doors  and  putting 
on  his  gloves  quite  unconsciously;  and  though  this 
may  seem  a  very  simple  operation,  any  one  who  has 
taught  a  child  to  put  on  gloves  knows  that  this  is 
by  no  means  the  case.  Even  laughing  and  weep- 
ing have  to  be  learned  through  practice,  for  very 
young  babies  do  neither,  although  they  are  profi- 
cient in  screaming  from  the  beginning.  As  almost 
every  physical  movement  of  the  body  has  to  be  de- 
veloped through  exercise,  so  the  capacity  for  every 
emotion  is  developed.  It  is  the  business  of  the  dra- 
matic director  to  see  that  from  play  to  play  and 
from  year  to  year,  she  so  casts  her  players  that  they 
will  gain  the  most  advantage  from  the  characters 
and  emotions  depicted. 

How  shall  the  dramatic  director  know  that  the 
player  has  understood  the  true  meaning  of  the  emo- 
tion of  the  character  that  he  is  portraying?  By 
his  physical  expression  of  that  emotion.  But  just 
as  different  players  are  not  all  equally  susceptible 
to  the  same  emotion,  so  the  form  of  expression  of 
emotion  differs  in  dififerent  players.  In  actual  life, 
one  person,  filled  with  surprise  at  meeting  a  burglar 
in  the  house,  will  advance  to  attack  him,  another 
will  shrink  back.  If  this  response  of  the  body  to 
a  given  stimulation  is  so  exact  and  infallible,  why 
is  this  so?    In  this  one  instance  it  is  because  dur- 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  149 

ing  numerous  generations  men  have  endeavoured  to 
escape  from  their  enemies  or  dangers,  not  only  by 
violently  struggling  v^ith  them,  but  also  by  head- 
long flight.  With  almost  all  emotions,  the  differ- 
ent expressions  of  them  can  be  traced  back  and 
found  to  be  either  innate  or  inherited, — '*  that  is,  is 
that  they  have  not  been  learnt  by  the  individual.'' 
So  little  has  learning  or  imitation  to  do  with  many 
of  them  that  they  are  often  beyond  one's  control. 
One  may  not  v^ant  to  start  back  at  seeing  a  burglar, 
or  to  attack  him,  but  one  does  it  just  the  same.  All 
actions  v^ere,  doubtless,  first  performed  voluntarily, 
to  accomplish  some  definite  object.  One  generation 
after  another,  finding  these  voluntary  actions  of 
value,  used  them,  until  they  have  now  become  a 
matter  of  habit  and  are  innate.  "  That  most  of 
them  are  inherited,  we  may  infer  from  their  being 
performed,  in  almost  the  same  way,  by  very  young 
children,  by  those  born  blind,  and  by  the  most  widely 
distinct  races  of  man.''  These  three  greatly  vary- 
ing examples  serve  as  definite  proof  that  the  form 
of  expression  is  not  controlled  by  each  individual, 
but  is  the  result  of  the  selective  struggle  of  the  hu- 
man species  for  generations  to  get  the  expression 
that  best  meets  the  situation,  developing  into  more 
subtle  shades  of  expression  as  life  becomes  more 
complicated  for  the  individual.  Beginning  with  the 
simplest  forms  of  self  preservation,  developing  into 
defence  of  all  kinds  from  the  physical  to  the  spir- 
itual and  the  intellectual.  Beginning  with  the  wild 
fight  to  obtain  food,  developing  into  the  present  keen 
business  competition  to  get  money  to  buy  food  and 


150     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

other  necessities  and  luxuries.  Beginning  with  the 
simple  desire  to  propagate  the  race,  developing  into 
the  present-day  subtleties  of  attraction,  friendship, 
marriage,  social  intercourse  of  all  kinds. 

There  are  three  principles  for  these  innate  ac- 
tions of  the  body.  The  first  is  known  as  **  reflex 
actions."  These  are  actions  such  as  coughing  and 
sneezing, —  actions  which  take  place  without  any 
preliminary  brain  sensation  or  consciousness,  al- 
though often  such  preliminary  voluntary  conscious- 
ness is  present.  These  are  caused  by  an  undirected 
overflow  of  nerve  force, —  that  is  without  the  idea 
having  been  carried  to  the  brain  with  a  consequent 
movement  following  it.  In  fact,  the  wish  and  will 
to  perform  an  action  of  this  kind  very  often  stop 
its  performance.  If  one  tries  to  sneeze  or  cough 
or  yawn  it  will  be  found  that  something  more  than 
simply  the  will  to  do  it  is  necessary.  It  is  this  prin- 
ciple that  often  makes  it  so  difficult  for  some  per- 
sons to  swallow  a  pill.  The  more  you  draw  atten- 
tion to  the  action,  and  direct  the  conscious  will  to- 
ward it,  the  more  difficult  it  becomes.  The  invol- 
untary closing  of  the  eyelids  in  anticipation  of  a 
blow  is  a  reverse  illustration  of  the  same  law.  It 
may  have  been,  that,  in  the  beginning,  these  actions 
were  all  voluntary  and  directed  and  have  become 
unconscious  through  inheritance  and  now  take  place 
whenever  the  same  sensation  is  felt,  even  if  in  very 
slight  degrees. 

The  second  principle  is  that  known  as  "  antith- 
esis." When  the  body  has  become  accustomed  to 
perform  certain  actions  when  certain  sensations  are 
felt,  it  will  perform  opposite  actions  when  oppos- 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  151 

ing  sensations  are  felt,  even  though  these  actions  are 
of  no  use  and  have  no  other  reason  for  being. 
The  best  instance  of  this  is  shrugging  the  shoulders 
as  a  sign  of  expressing  impotence  or  apology  or 
something  which  cannot  be  done  or  cannot  be 
avoided.  The  action  itself  accomplishes  nothing. 
It  is  but  the  opposite  of  the  movements  made  in  a 
bold  gesture  of  any  kind,  where  the  shoulders  are 
squared  and  the  chest  expanded.  All  the  expres- 
sion of  joy  of  a  dog  at  meeting  his  master  is  of 
no  use,  but  is  merely  the  contrary  of  the  actions  of 
fighting.  Astonishment  is  often  expressed  by  rais- 
ing the  arms,  opening  the  palms,  and  separating  the 
fingers,  or  by  straightening  the  arms,  extending 
them  back,  and  opening  the  fingers,  movements  of 
no  use,  but  the  opposite  of  repose,  when  the  arms 
and  hands  hang  relaxed  at  the  side. 

The  third  principle  is  that  of  the  "  direct  action  " 
of  the  nervous  system  on  the  body,  independently 
of  the  will  and  independently,  in  large  part,  of  habit. 
As  an  example,  when  the  mind  is  strongly  excited 
it  instantly  affects  the  heart  in  a  direct  manner, 
causing  rapid  breathing  and  trembling,  which  are 
never  of  service  to  the  body  in  that  situation. 

In  order  to  become  assured  of  how  innate  and 
exact  these  reactions  of  the  body  are,  note  care- 
fully some  of  the  following  analyses  of  the  relation 
of  physical  expression  to  mental  emotion  or  feeling, 
which  have  been  adapted  for  the  most  part  directly 
from  Darwin;  get  your  players  to  assume,  so  far 
as  possible,  the  suggested  physical  position  and  pos- 
ture of  face  and  body;  and  then  try  to  express  in 
words  a  different  thought  or  emotion. — 


152     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

1.  Express  astonishment  by  raising  the  eyebrows 
and  opening  wide  the  mouth  and  eyes.  Then  say 
nonchalantly,  "  Oh,  I  don't  care/' 

2.  Hold  the  body  and  head  erect,  square  the  shoul- 
ders and  clench  the  fists,  as  when  indignant  or  de- 
fiant, and  say,  softly  and  sweetly,  "  I  love  you/' 

3.  Frown,  or  wrinkle  the  skin  beneath  the  lower 
eyelids,  as  when  considering  deeply  on  any  subject, 
or  when  trying  to  understand  a  puzzle,  and  say, 
brightly,  "  It  is  as  clear  as  day." 

4.  As  when  in  low  spirits,  depress  the  corners  of 
the  mouth,  and  raise  the  inner  corners  of  the  eye- 
brows by  that  muscle  which  the  French  call  the 
"  grief  muscle."  Then  say  joyously,  "  Fm  so 
happy ! " 

5.  Attempt  to  express  good  spirits  when  the  eyes 
sparkle  and  the  skin  is  a  little  wrinkled  around  un- 
der them,  and  the  mouth  a  little  drawn  back  at  the 
corners,  and  say,  sadly,  "  He  died  this  morning." 

6.  Sneer  or  snarl,  as  when  the  comer  of  the  upper 
lip  is  raised  over  the  canine,  or  eye  tooth,  on  the 
side  facing  the  person  addressed,  and  say  proudly 
and  without  sarcasm,  "  He  is  the  best  son  in  the 
world." 

7.  Assume  a  dogged  or  obstinate  expression  by 
closing  the  mouth  firmly,  lowering  the  brow,  and 
frowning  slightly.  Then  say  cheerfully,  "  FU 
gladly  do  it." 

8.  Express  contempt  by  a  slight  protrusion  of  the 
lips  and  by  turning  up  the  nose  with  a  slight  ex- 
piration, and  say,  sincerely,  "  I  can't  tell  you  how 
fond  I  am  of  him." 

9.  Show  disgust  by  turning  down  the  lower  lip 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  153 

and  raising  the  upper  lip  slightly,  with  a  sudden 
expiration  something  like  incipient  vomiting,  or  like 
something  being  spit  out  of  the  mouth,  and  say- 
sincerely,  as  directed  in  the  exercise  written  imme- 
diately above,  "  I  can't  tell  you  how  fond  I  am  of 
him." 

10.  Express  fear  by  a  heaving  of  the  chest,  hur- 
ried breathing  and  dilated  nostrils,  with  the  pupils 
of  the  eye  apparently  gazing  into  profound  dark- 
ness,—  or  by  shivering;  and  say,  pleasantly,  "  I  am 
having  such  a  good  time." 

11.  Show  that  you  cannot  prevent  something 
from  being  done,  or  that  you  cannot  yourself  do 
something,  by  shrugging  the  shoulders,  turning  the 
elbows  inward,  extending  outward  the  hands  with 
the  palms  open  upward,  and  with  the  eyebrows 
raised,  and  then  say  with  determination,  "  I  will  do 
it!" 

12.  Nod  the  head  vertically  in  affirmation,  and 
say  in  a  determined  manner,  "'  No,  I  will  not  do  it !  " 

13.  Shake  the  head  laterally  in  negation,  and  say, 
convincingly,  "  Yes,  I  understand  all  this  perfectly." 

Expressive  movements  manifest  themselves  chiefly 
in  the  muscles  of  the  face,  partly  because  these 
nerves  are  nearest  the  mind.  In  fact,  expression  is 
part  of  the  feeling  itself.  Along  with  the  fact  of 
inward  feeling,  there  is  an  excitement  over  the  bod- 
ily members.  Feeling  vents  itself  in  body  action, 
and  whereas,  in  the  beginning,  actions  often  were  of 
direct  or  indirect  service  or  use,  now,  under  like 
conditions,  they  are  often  performed  through  mere 
habit,  although  of  no  service,  and  hence  merely  ex- 


154     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

press  in  outward  signs  an  inward  emotion  when- 
ever the  same  desire  or  sensation  is  felt  as  in  former 
generations.  "  Most  of  our  emotions  are  so  closely 
connected  with  expression  that  they  hardly  exist  if 
the  body  remains  passive,  the  nature  of  the  expres- 
sion depending  in  chief  part  on  the  nature  of  the 
action  which  has  been  habitually  performed  under 
this  particular  state  of  mind." 

The  movements  of  expression  of  the  face  and 
body,  whatever  their  origin,  are  in  themselves  of 
much  importance  to  our  welfare.  They  serve  as  a 
means  of  communication,  of  sympathy.  They  give 
vividness  to  the  spoken  word.  The  free  expression 
of  outward  signs  of  an  emotion  intensifies  it.  Even 
the  simulation  of  an  emotion  tends  to  arouse  it  in 
our  minds. 

The  dramatic  director  must  remember  that  recog- 
nition of  the  expression  of  an  emotion  is  almost  as 
instinctive  as  the  producing  of  the  expression. 
Many  shades  of  expression  are  instantly  recognized 
without  any  conscious  process  of  analysis.  There 
is  only  one  danger,  and  that  is  that  the  imagination 
may  cause  the  dramatic  director  to  see  an  expres- 
sion which  is  not  there,  simply  because  she  expects 
to  see  it,  knowing  so  well  the  play  which  she  is  re- 
hearsing. 

If  the  player  is  not  able  at  first  to  put  himself 
into  the  part  which  he  is  studying,  often  that  can 
be  developed  by  making  him  look  at  the  character 
from  the  outside,  and  inspiring  him  with  a  feeling 
of  sympathy  for  that  person's  joys  or  sorrows. 
Sympathy  is  an  emotion  distinct  from  all  others  and 
especially  apt  to  cause  tears  and  a  breaking  down 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  155 

of  self -consciousness.  Once  such  understanding 
and  fellow-feeling  are  established,  it  is  a  small  step 
for  the  player  himself  in  his  character  in  the  play 
to  feel  the  same  joys  or  sorrows. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  tasks  is  to  make  the 
player  express  the  humour  of  the  situation.  Here 
it  is  well  to  remember  that  the  mind  or  imagination 
must  be  tickled  by  the  ludicrous  idea,  much  as  the 
body  is  tickled  by  a  slight  physical  attack. 

Any  overflow  of  excitement  or  nerve-force  un- 
directed by  any  definite  motive  will  take  first  the 
most  habitual  routes,  and  if  those  do  not  suffice, 
will  next  overflow  into  the  less  habitual  ones,  for 
bodily  action  always  follows  any  feeling  that  reaches 
a  certain  pitch.  The  excited  brain  gives  strength  to 
the  muscles  and  at  the  same  time  energy  to  the  will. 
In  amateur  dramatics  this  nervous  energy,  created 
by  becoming  the  focus  of  attention,  first  of  the  rest 
of  the  cast  and  then  of  the  audience,  if  not  care- 
fully directed  and  sent  into  the  proper  channels, 
will  develop  self -consciousness.  Once  a  player  gets 
his  mind  turned  to  himself  and  becomes  absorbed 
with  his  effect  on  the  audience, —  in  other  words, 
when  once  self -consciousness  gains  control  of  the 
"  common  final  path,"  a  dramatic  director  encoun- 
ters innumerable  difficulties.  Self-consciousness  in 
the  players  is  the  besetting  sin  of  amateur  dramatics 
and  ruins  more  performances  than  any  other  thing. 
It  can  be  eliminated  only  by  focusing  the  attention 
of  the  players  on  the  characters  they  are  portraying 
and  on  their  emotions,  thus  developing  a  "  natural- 
ness ''  that  is  always  enjoyed  by  the  audience.  It  is 
one  of  the  chief  charms  of  very  young  children  that 


156     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

they  think  nothing  about  what  others  are  thinking 
of  them,  so  absorbed  are  they  in  what  they  are 
doing  that  they  are  entirely  unaffected.  Self-con- 
sciousness often  results  in  overdoing  the  expression. 
It  also  often  results  in  a  false  expression  because 
there  is  no  corresponding  emotion  of  the  body. 
Both  of  these  impart  a  rather  foolish  look  to  the 
face  and  body  and  often  make  comedy  out  of  a 
serious  situation.  A  good  example  is  that  of  the 
monkeys  which  have  an  almost  incessant  movement 
of  the  eyebrows,  which  gives  them  a  senseless  ex- 
pression. Self-consciousness  often  shows  itself  in 
the  players'  asking  the  director  such  questions  as: 
^^What  shall  I  do  next?"  or  *' Where  shall  I  go 
now?''  The  director,  not  visuaHzing  the  whole 
scene  and  being  absorbed  in  some  detail  of  another 
player,  may  answer  carelessly,  "  Go  over  there,"  or 
"  You  might  sit  down,"  or  "  Do  anything  until  I 
have  time  for  you  again."  No  action  of  any  kind 
should  be  suggested  without  a  human  reason  for  it. 
If  you  want  a  player  in  a  certain  place,  find  a  reason 
for  his  going  there  before  you  ask  him  to  go,  and 
never  tell  him  how  to  go.  If  he  knows  where  and 
why,  he  will  know  how.  By  developing  a  real  un- 
derstanding of  the  situation  in  the  players,  a  real 
interest  in  the  progress  of  the  action,  the  players' 
attention  will  never  be  diverted  toward  the  audience 
or  toward  themselves,  nor  will  they  be  "  bad  listen- 
ers," and  so  lose  the  interest  of  their  audience.  In 
fact,  their  bodies  will  be  attentive  and  never  self- 
conscious.  A  "  bad  listener  "  is  a  player  who  fails 
to  show  an  interest  in,  or  understanding  of  what  the 
other  characters  are  saying. 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  157 

Free  the  body  by  good  physical  exercise  unrelated 
to  any  definite  piece  of  dramatic  work,  so  that  it 
may  be  able  to  respond  easily  and  naturally.  Imi- 
tating any  one's  else  gestures  has  exactly  the  oppo- 
site effect. 

With  most  amateurs  it  will  be  noticed  that  only 
about  three  natural,  spontaneous  performances  of  a 
single  play  can  be  given.  A  player  has  a  tendency 
with  repetition  to  imitate  himself  and  to  get  out  of 
his  part,  and  his  playing  becomes  stilted,  especially 
as  it  has  not  the  technique  of  the  actor  to  rely  upon. 
A  few  professional  producers  feel  that  first  to  get 
this  spontaneous  performance  from  an  actor,  and 
then  to  let  him.  build  up  his  own  technique  from  such 
performances  will  be  the  successful  schooling  of  the 
future. 

This  use  of  dramatics  is  in  reality  Froebel's  idea 
of  "  Creative  activity,"  reached  by  the  exercise  of 
fancy  and  imagination  in  the  child's  realm  of 
"  make-believe,"  carried  into  the  years  of  adoles- 
cence and  maturity. 

All  outward  activity  springs  from  the  inmost  na- 
ture and  life.  The  deepest  craving  of  this  inner 
life,  this  inner  activity,  is  to  behold  itself  mirrored 
in  some  external  object.  In  and  through  such  re- 
flection the  child  learns  to  know  his  own  activity. 
Almost  every  one  desires  to  **  act  out  "  some  dream 
or  phase  of  his  inner  life.  Once  the  body  having 
actually  accomplished  that,  it  knows  its  capability 
for  such  action  and  that  it  is  free  to  push  forward 
to  more  and  more  independence  and  personality  in 
that  direction.  By  such  expression  the  player's  in- 
nermost nature  can  be  satisfied.     Playing  a  part  be- 


158     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

comes  a  *^  mental  experience."  Every  new  part 
gives  the  player  a  new  point  of  view,  makes  him 
capable  of  understanding  that  point  of  view  when 
he  meets  it  in  *'the  other  fellow,"  and  develops  in 
him  unlimited  sympathy  for  the  other  person. 
Playing  a  part  that  one  creates,  whose  character  is 
not  imposed  upon  the  player,  gets  him  out  of  his 
shell,  away  from  the  environment  in  which  he  lives 
which  is  always  contracting  to  his  sensibilities.  It 
is  like  taking  a  trip  to  foreign  countries.  Objects 
and  ideas  not  yet  known  to  a  player  may  be  intro- 
duced to  him  through  the  spoken  word  and  the  ac- 
tion of  a  part.  By  such  simple  means  can  a  play- 
er's horizon  become  enlarged  and  he  be  given  a 
genuine  education  for  life. — "  What  a  comprehen- 
sive instruction  about  life  —  about  true  life  —  tak- 
ing the  whole  human  being  into  consideration !  " 
The  whole  purpose  is  to  aid  the  player  to  express 
what  lies  within  him,  to  bring  the  phenomena  of  the 
outer  world  nearer  to  him,  and  thus  to  serve  as 
mediator  between  the  mind  and  the  world.  *'  That 
he  may  fulfil  and  attain  his  destiny,  man  is  endowed 
on  the  one  hand  with  senses,  the  organs  by  which 
he  can  make  the  external  internal;  on  the  other 
hand,  with  bodily  strength  and  limbs,  by  which  he 
can  represent  his  inner  nature  outwardly;  therefore 
always  by  material  means." 

Think  of  the  player's  body  as  like  a  piano,  and 
that  the  dramatic  director  plays  upon  it  with  just 
as  exact  a  knowledge  of  what  expression  will  re- 
sult as  the  pianist  has  of  what  sound  will  come 
forth  from  the  piano  if  the  right  notes  are  touched. 
As  a  piano  may  be  out  of  tune,  so  a  player  may 


The  Body  as  an  Instrument  159 

be  out  of  key  with  his  surroundings.  It  is  the  di- 
rector's place  to  know  so  well  the  reactions  of  the 
body  that  she  can  recognize  in  time  what  is  wrong 
and  bring  it  into  normal  conditions,  just  as  a  piano 
tuner  tunes  his  instrument.  The  director  must  be 
both  musician  and  piano  tuner,  must  play  upon  the 
instrument,  recognize  its  failings,  and  know  how  to 
remedy  them.  Just  as  the  musician  must  strike  the 
right  key  to  get  the  right  expression  in  sound,  so 
the  dramatic  director  must  introduce  into  the  mind 
of  the  player,  through  the  senses,  the  right  emotion 
in  order  to  get  the  correct  expression  of  that  emo- 
tion in  the  body.  Just  as  no  sound  comes  from  a 
piano  which  is  not  played  upon,  so  there  is  no  ex- 
pression of  life  in  any  physical  body  that  is  not 
stimulated  by  an  outside  influence.  The  text  of  a 
play  is  the  written  music,  and  it  is  just  as  necessary 
for  the  dramatic  director  to  know  that  thoroughly 
and  intelligently  as  for  the  musician  to  know  the 
notes.  A  false  note  on  the  piano  is  easily  detected, 
a  false  note  in  a  dramatic  performance  cannot  be 
so  easily  detected,  but  the  audience  realizes  it  just 
as  much,  and  the  reaction  is  a  lack  of  interest  and 
attention  on  their  part. 

Once  knowing  what  the  correct  expressions  of  the 
different  emotions  are,  and  how  infallibly  the  body 
responds  to  them,  the  temptation  to  make  the  player 
do  anything  by  imitation  soon  disappears.  Bear  in 
mind  always  these  two  simple  recommendations : 

I.  Never  show  a  player  a  gesture  —  if  he 
feels  the  need,  he  will  make  an  appropriate 
one. 


i6o    Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

2.  Never  say  a  line  for  a  player  and  have 
him  repeat  it.  Explain  what  it  means, 
let  him  say  it  in  his  own  way,  and  if  he 
understands,  he  will  say  it  correctly. 

By  such  means  a  player  is  made  to  create  a  part. 
The  spoken  language  is  the  only  purely  imitative 
expression  of  the  body  and  for  that  reason  there  are 
so  many  who  ''  Murder  the  King's  English,"  yet 
whose  bodies,  having  been  left  to  grow,  like  Topsy, 
are  free  and  graceful. 

An  actor,  amateur  as  well  as  professional,  should 
be  allowed  to  create  his  part  just  as  much  as  a  writer 
his  poem,  or  an  artist  his  picture,  or  a  composer 
his  music.  He  has  a  much  more  marvellous  instru- 
ment than  any  of  them,  for  there  is  nothing  more 
wonderful  than  the  human  body  when  it  is  inspired 
by  sincere  feeling  and  left  free  to  express  itself. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   STUDY  OF  DRAMATICS   A   HELP   IN   EARNING   A 
LIVING 

As  equipment  for  teachers  —  As  a  specialty  —  Dramatic  di- 
rector —  Reading  plays  aloud  —  Story-telling  —  As  an  as- 
set for  the  business  woman. 

The  study  of  dramatics  helps  at  so  many  points 
in  the  problem  of  earning  a  living,  that  it  seems  best 
to  take  the  subject  up  in  sections. 

First,  there  is  the  great  opportunity  and  the  wide 
field  opening  up  for  teachers  of  dramatics.  Every 
college,  school,  settlement,  community,  church  and 
small  town  has  its  dramatic  department,  organiza- 
tion or  club,  and  all  these  need  help  in  the  produc- 
tion of  plays.  More  and  more  are  these  produc- 
tions being  taken  very  seriously  by  the  players,  and 
more  and  more  is  being  expected  of  the  dramatic 
director  and  of  the  cast.  No  longer  does  some  one 
a  little  better  versed  in  dramatic  art  than  the  other 
members  of  the  cast  take  upon  herself  the  stage 
management  of  the  production.  No  longer  is  the 
clever  reciter  of  monologues  called  in  to  drill  the 
players,  or  the  teacher  of  literature  asked  to  help 
in  the  school  production.  A  regular  dramatic  di- 
rector is  put  in  charge, —  one  who  has  been  trained 
in  the  science  of  dramatics, —  and  under  her  guid- 
ance the  play  is  brought  to  a  successful  issue,  the 

i6i 


1 62     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

work  made  valuable  to  the  players  and  the  enter- 
tainment of  interest  to  the  audience. 

Some  time  ago  the  school  play  or  the  play  given 
by  amateurs  for  some  popular  charity  was  not  ex- 
pected to  be  entertaining  to  the  audience.  The 
friends  of  the  players  attended  the  performance 
merely  because  of  their  personal  interest  in  the 
members  of  the  cast,,  and  their  unbounded  and 
kindly  wonder  that  their  children  had  the  power  to 
act  at  all. 

For  the  players  there  was  very  little  educational 
value  beyond  the  memorizing  of  lines  and  the  self- 
reliance  and  poise  that  comes  from  taking  a  part 
and  carrying  it  through. 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  the  audience  expects  a 
creditable  performance,  and  the  players  expect  some 
lasting  benefit  through  the  work.  The  dramatic 
director  must,  therefore,  give  more  than  a  mere 
drill.  She  must  understand  the  science  of  dramatics 
and  have  regular  training  to  equip  her  as  a  teacher. 
Her  work  is  no  longer  a  part  of  the  study  of  elo- 
cution, but  a  profession  in  itself,  requiring  a  special 
sort  of  person  to  undertake  it  and  a  special  train- 
ing. The  field  is  wide,  and  the  opportunity  for 
good  teachers  specializing  in  the  subject,  very  great. 
It  is  a  comparatively  new  field  and  its  borders  are 
enlarging  every  day.  The  Science  of  Educational 
Dramatics  has  been  taught  for  only  a  few  years; 
consequently  there  are  no  great  numbers  of  trained 
teachers  to  be  had.  Yet,  new  as  the  science  is,  the 
demand  for  teachers  who  know  and  teach  accord- 
ing to  its  methods  is  almost  universal  because  of  the 
difference  a  trained  teacher  makes  in  the  charm  of 


Earning  a  Living  163 

the  production,  the  educational  value  to  the  player 
and  the  entertainment  value  to  the  audience. 

Next,  take  the  reading  aloud  of  plays  —  not  with 
the  idea  of  production  or  publication,  but  to  make 
clear  the  literary  value  of  the  play  and  to  enhance 
the  interest  of  the  listeners.  Look  at  the  number 
of  splendid  plays  being  written,  and  at  the  number 
of  literary  clubs  and  circles  making  a  study  of  the 
drama.  The  plays  studied  in  these  clubs  would  be 
more  interesting  if  they  were  read  aloud  before  they 
were  brought  before  the  members  for  discussion. 
A  new  field  is  gradually  opening  for  specialists  in 
play  reading  to  clubs  and  literary  circles,  and  this 
work  could  readily  be  adopted  as  a  profession.  Any 
one  possessing  a  good  voice  and  dramatic  imagina- 
tion could  easily  be  trained  through  the  study  of 
the  science  of  educational  dramatics  to  become  a 
reader  of  plays,  and  could  obtain  many  opportunities 
in  this  line  of  work. 

Story-telling  has  long  been  a  part  of  many  teach- 
ers' equipment,  but  story-telling  becomes  an  art 
indeed  when  it  is  coupled  with  a  knowledge  of  dra- 
matics in  order  to  give  the  true-to-life  quality  it  so 
often  lacks.  Story-telling  raised  to  the  standard  of 
an  art  —  by  adding  to  it  the  dramatic  element  — 
may  become  a  specialty  whereby  one  can  earn  a 
living  apart  from  teaching,  or  make  the  story-tell- 
ing such  an  asset  as  to  materially  increase  the  salary 
of  the  teacher. 

Again,  take  the  profession  of  nursing.  Story- 
telling should  be  a  part  of  a  nurse's  professional 
equipment.  Think  of  the  convalescent  and  the 
many  weary  hours  that  would  be  brightened  if  the 


164    Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

nurse  could  tell  really  good  stories  in  a  really  inter- 
esting and  dramatic  way.  It  seems  as  vital  a  part 
of  the  work  as  the  knowledge  of  hygiene  or  cookery 
for  the  sick. 

Story-telling  is  a  special  art  and  can  be  as  regu- 
larly taught  and  studied  as  any  other  art. 

Consider  next  the  primary  teacher.  In  these  days 
of  ring  games,  story  games,  dramatic  readers  and 
little  schoolroom  plays,  the  primary  teacher  must 
know  something  of  dramatics  if  she  hopes  at  all  to 
cope  with  the  new  methods  in  her  line  of  work. 
Why  should  she  not  go  a  step  or  two  further  and 
study  the  science  of  dramatics,  thus  increasing  her 
usefulness  and  incidentally  her  salary?  The 
teacher  of  literature  can,  of  course,  make  the  study 
ten  times  more  interesting  by  a  knowledge  of  dra- 
matic values.  Literature  will  then  be  vitalized  in- 
stead of  being  the  dead  thing  it  so  often  is.  The 
glorious  stories  will  leap  into  vital,  glowing,  living 
pictures  of  real  life,  instead  of  being  just  dull  facts 
which  must  be  learned  somehow  because  one  needs 
to  know  them.  We  shall  then  no  longer  have  the 
boy  or  girl  exclaim  when  some  fine  piece  of  litera- 
ture is  mentioned,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  read  that  thing  in 
school  and  have  hated  it  ever  since."  Literature 
must  appeal  to  the  imagination;  it  must  be  made 
beautiful  if  we  are  to  learn  to  love  it;  and  one  way 
to  make  it  beautiful  is  to  make  it  dramatic. 

In  all  the  lines  of  work  mentioned,  the  value  of 
the  study  of  dramatics  seems  perfectly  obvious. 
Now  let  us  take  up  other  employments  where  the 
value  of  the  study  is  equally  great  but  perhaps  not 
so  patent. 


Earning  a  hiving  165 

The  study  of  dramatics  is  of  great  use  to  the 
business  woman.  Take,  for  instance,  a  milliner,  a 
seller  of  gowns  or  coats,  or  a  woman  engaged  in 
any  sort  of  work  that  brings  her  into  direct  con- 
tact with  the  customer.  She  wants  to  sell  her 
goods,  but  she  has  an  ungracious  and  ungraceful 
manner,  a  bad  carriage,  poor  voice,  and  little  un- 
derstanding of  the  people  with  whom  she  has  to 
deal.  She  studies  dramatics.  Having  a  good 
teacher,  who  understands  her  needs,  she  is  given  a 
part  where  gracefulness  and  graciousness  are  neces- 
sary. Through  her  part  she  comes  to  a  realization 
of  what  an  asset  graciousness  is  in  her  business. 
By  making  an  analysis  of  her  part  in  the  play  and 
working  it  out  like  real  life,  she  comes  to  a  realiza- 
tion of  what  such  graciousness  may  mean  to  her  in 
dealing  with  people  in  every-day  life,  and  she  adopts 
it  as  her  own.  She  begins  to  stand  erect,  because 
her  character  in  the  play  calls  for  an  erect  carriage. 
Her  voice  improves  under  the  skilful  guidance  of 
the  teacher.  Lastly  she  begins  to  understand  other 
lives  through  her  study  of  the  characters  in  the  play, 
and  this  enables  her  to  understand  her  customers 
better.  Her  sales  increase.  Her  salary  increases. 
The  study  of  dramatics  has  helped  her  practically 
in  her  business  life. 

Take  the  stenographer  who  fully  understands  her 
business  and  starts  out  to  find  a  position.  As  a 
stenographer  she  is  eminently  capable,  but  because 
of  shyness  or  self -consciousness  she  lacks  the  power 
to  express  herself, —  to  tell  what  she  knows.  She 
needs  poise  and  self-assurance,  and  so  opportunity 
after  opportunity  is  lost.     The  study  of  dramatics 


1 66     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

gives  the  power  to  express,  to  give  out  what  one 
knows.  It  was  the  lack  of  this  power  that  had  held 
the  stenographer  back  and  kept  her  from  obtaining 
the  position  she  might  otherwise  have  gained. 

A  young  woman  in  a  certain  factory  understood 
the  work  perfectly  and  was  prompt  and  faithful 
in  performance.  The  superintendent  came  to  her 
one  day  and  said,  **  If  you  only  had  the  ginger  I 
could  put  you  in  as  manager  of  this  room  and  in- 
crease your  salary."  The  young  woman  happened 
to  be  in  a  dramatic  class  at  the  time.  She  appealed 
to  the  teacher,  whose  interest  was  immediately 
awakened.  First,  the  part  of  the  clown  in  "  Twelfth 
Night ''  was  given  her,  which  taught  her  grace  and 
quick  poise.  Next  she  studied  the  part  of  Viola, 
and  gained  quiet  dignity  and  force.  Her  body  be- 
gan naturally  to  assume  graceful  lines,  her  breathing 
became  strong  and  deep,  her  voice  improved  in 
depth  and  quality.  Her  outlook  on  life  was 
changed.  Thus  she  acquired  the  "  ginger^"  which 
really  means  spontaneity  combined  with  the  under- 
standing of  herself.  This  enabled  her  to  bring  out 
that  force  which  she  had  all  the  time  but  could  not 
express.  She  is  now  "  manager  "  and  her  salary 
is  doubled. 

Another  girl  was  employed  in  an  automobile  es- 
tablishment. Her  business  was  to  explain  about  the 
cars  and  try  to  sell  them.  She  was  not  '*  making 
good."  Her  understanding  of  the  automobiles  was 
absolutely  perfect;  yet  somehow  she  failed  to  inter- 
est and  convince  the  prospective  buyers.  She 
joined  a  class  in  dramatics.  For  this  class  the  dra- 
matic director  had  been   engaged   for  a  term  of 


Earning  a  hiving  167 

weeks,  not  only  to  put  on  a  play  but  also  to  teach 
the  players  all  that  might  help  them  along  the  way. 
The  play  chosen  as  the  vehicle  of  expression  was 
''  As  You  Like  It."  Each  player  studied  and  anal- 
ysed every  part.  The  stiff -minded  and  stiff- jointed 
little  automobile  seller  discovered  that  in  the  "  For- 
est of  Arden  "  one  is  serious  and  witty  with  Jaques, 
merry  and  clever  with  Rosalind,  romantic  with  Or- 
lando, graceful  and  quick  with  Touchstone,  loyal 
and  loving  with  Celia,  vain  and  foolish  with  Phebe, 
awkward  with  Audrey,  clownish  with  William,  and 
fine  with  Duke  Senior.  She  learned  that  the  ''  For- 
est of  Arden  "  is  a  little  world,  and  that  the  people 
in  the  big,  real  world  are  very  like  those  in  the  im- 
aginary world.  She  took  this  lesson  to  heart  and 
worked  it  out  in  her  daily  life,  with  the  result  that 
she  became  a  splendid  saleswoman  and  '*  made 
good." 

There  was  a  housekeeper  in  a  small  hotel.  A  fine 
looking  woman,  with  a  big,  sympathetic  soul,  she 
was  timid  and  self-conscious,  and  underestimated 
her  ability  to  please.  She  entered  a  class,  where  the 
director  began  the  work  by  giving  real  life-study 
scenes  arranged  by  the  pupils.  The  housekeeper 
gave  bits  of  interviews  with  fussy  boarders,  and 
talks  with  managers  and  wholesale  dealers  in  such 
things  as  a  hotel  requires.  Gradually  her  diffidence 
and  self -depreciation  wore  away,  and  these  imag- 
inary interviews  gave  her  courage  for  the  real  inter- 
views, with  the  result  that  she  now  has  charge  of  one 
of  the  largest  hotels  in  the  city. 

One  could  go  on  almost  indefinitely  telling  case 
after  case  of  this  kind,  proving  that  as  a  business 


1 68     Amateur  and  Educational  Dramatics 

proposition  the  result  of  the  study  of  dramatics  can- 
not be  overestimated. 

The  help  the  study  gives  is  two-fold.  First  must 
be  considered  the  help  to  the  individual, —  to  the 
personality,  as  it  were.  The  gradual  elimination  of 
faulty  breathing  and  the  consequent  increased  health 
and  vitality;  the  strength  and  beauty  given  to  the 
speaking  voice;  the  help  in  articulation  and  the  re- 
finement gained  in  speech  by  the  study  of  diction; 
the  help  in  making  the  body  erect,  graceful  and 
strong;  the  losing  of  self-consciousness,  shyness  and 
self -depreciation;  the  new  power  to  express  through 
gesture  and  voice  the  thoughts  and  emotions;  the 
feeling  of  poise  and  power  —  all  these  things  are 
of  inestimable  value. 

Second,  but  of  no  less  importance,  is  the  enlarg- 
ing of  our  horizon  and  the  ability  better  to  under- 
stand those  around  us,  the  men  and  women  with 
whom  we  come  in  contact  in  our  daily  life;  better  to 
understand  their  motives,  feelings  and  springs  of 
action.  This  is  a  tremendous  asset  in  the  business 
world,  and  this  is  a  part  of  the  gain  from  the  study 
of  dramatics.  It  would  take  a  long  life  and  the 
meeting  and  knowing  of  many  people  to  under- 
stand even  a  little  of  human  nature,  but  in  the  best 
drama  we  find  really  all  the  types  of  men  and 
women  ready  to  be  analysed  and  studied.  We  can 
go  back  to  them  again  and  again,  and  find  them 
always  there  waiting  to  be  studied,  unchanged  from 
the  time  when  first  we  met  them  on  the  page. 
Then  we  can  go  out  into  the  world  of  living  men 
and  women,  find  the  counterparts  of  these  charac- 
ters, and  understand  them  because  we  have  met 


f 


Earning  a  Living  169 

them  before  in  the  play.  By  such  study,  too,  we 
find  that  certain  physical  characteristics  usually  indi- 
cate certain  mental  or  moral  traits  and,  therefore, 
we  know  whom  to  trust  and  whom  to  avoid. 

The  science  of  educational  dramatics  is  the  study 
of  mankind.  That  to  understand  humanity  is  a 
good  business  proposition  no  one  can  gainsay. 


PRINTED    IN   THE    UNITED    STATES    OP   AMERICA 


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HE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of  a  few 
of  the  Macmillan  books  on  kindred  subjects. 


Three  Short  Plays 


By  MARY  S.  WATTS 

Author  of  "The  Rudder,"  "Nathan  Burke,"  "Van  Cleve," 
"  The  Rise  of  Jennie  Gushing,"  etc. 

Boards,  ismo.    Price  $1.25, 

Mrs.  Wa<tts  as  a  dramatistt  will  be  a  revelation  to 
those  who  know  her  only  as  one  of  the  country's  fore- 
most novelists.  The  three  plays  contained  in  this  vol- 
ume are  "  An  Ancient  Dance/'  a  tragedy  in  two  acts ; 
"  Civilization,"  in  one  act ;  and  a  farce  in  one  act,  "  The 
Wearin'  o'  the  Green." 

Mrs.  Watts'  keen  understanding  of  character  and 
the  dramatic  side  of  human  nature  has  gathered  from 
the  commonplace  incidents  of  life  something  which  is 
the  essence  of  tragedy  and  comedy  and  satire.  The 
people  of  her  plays  are  not  stage  figures,  they  are  the 
faces  one  passes  in  the  street  or  meets  in  drawing 
rooms,  and  their  stories  are  the  drama  of  to-day. 

"  The  literary  prestige  of  this  Ohio  author  will  be  measure- 
ably  increased  by  the  present  volume." — Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Mrs.  Watts  wil2  write  more  plays." 
—  Chicago  Herald. 

"...  Well  written,  with  swift,  plausible  action "— 5oj/om 
Herald. 

"  Mrs.  Watts  has  rapidly  arisen  to  a  place  of  honour  among 
the  small  group  of  our  contemporary  novelists  who  are  worth 
our  while." — New  York  Tribune, 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers     64-66  Fifth  Avenue     New  York 


A  Child's  Book  of 

Holiday  Plays 


By  FRANCES  GILLESPIE  WICKES 

209  pages.    Ill,  12°  $.50;  trade  edition,  III,  la""  $.75. 

"An  exceptionally  useful  collection  of  practical 
plays  for  children  or  even  young  people.  Beginning 
with  the  New  Year  short  dramas,  suitable  also  for 
Valentine's  Day,  May  Day,  June,  Fourth  of  July,  Hal- 
lowe'en, Thanksgiving  and  Christmas  come  in  the 
order  given,  with  directions  for  simple  costuming  and 
stage  setting  at  the  end.  The  plays  are  intended  for 
classroom  use,  but  extracts  may  be  used  as  dramatic 
readings  —  a  book  filling  a  long-felt  need. —  The  Jour- 
nal of  Education,  Boston,  Mass. 

"  Natural  talk,  natural  acting,  very  simple  require- 
ments in  dress  and  setting  make  it  easy  to  use  these 
plays  even  in  classrooms." — School  Board  Journal, 
Milwaukee,  Wis. 

''  These  show  a  fine  sympathy  with  the  imaginings 
of  childhood  and  a  grateful  simplicity.'' — The  Play- 
ground. 


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Makers  of  Madness 


By  HERMANN  HAGEDORN 

Author  of  "The  Heart  of  Youth," 
"Faces  in  the  Dawn,"  etc. 


Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.00 

Written  with  fine  spirit,  dramatic  and  fascinatingly 
interesting,  "  Makers  of  Madness ''  is  a  contribution 
of  considerable  importance  to  the  literature  which  has 
for  its  purpose  the  promotion  of  international  peace. 
While  it  does  not  in  any  way  reflect  the  actual  condi- 
tions in  any  one  nation  of  Europe,  it  nevertheless  con- 
trasts the  causes  by  which  war  might  be  brought  about 
between  a  great  Continental  Power  and  the  United 
States.  Throughout  the  intense  story  there  is  intro- 
duced much  significant  comment  on  governments  and 
the  factors  which  control  their  relationships.  "  Mak- 
ers of  Madness  "  demonstrates  that  its  author  is  as 
gobd  a  dramatist  as  he  is  novelist  and  poet. 


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Master  Will  of  Stratford: 
A  Midwinter  Night's  Dream 

By  LOUISE  AYRES  GARNETT 

Boards,  i2mo,  $.30 

It  seems  peculiarly  fitting  that  this,  the  tercentenary 
of  Shakespeare's  death,  should  be  marked  by  the  pub- 
lication of  a  Shakespeare  play  for  children.  And  such 
this  is.  In  a  prologue,  three  acts  and  an  epilogue, 
Mrs.  Garnett  has  succeeded  in  telling  a  story  of  much 
charm,  and  a  story,  moreover,  which  children  will 
delight  to  see  and  to  act.  The  play  centers  around 
the  boy  Shakespeare  in  his  home  in  Stratford,  relating 
his  remarkable  experiences,  in  reality  a  dream,  on  New 
Year's  Eve.  The  characters  which  are  introduced,  in 
addition  to  Will,  include  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Shake- 
speare's mother.  Queen  Elizabeth,  Oberon,  Titania, 
and  fairies  and  witches. 

"A  delightful  play"— The  Independent. 

"The  chief  delight  of  the  drama  is  its  delicate  fancy,  a 
certain  misty  dream  quality  which  can  only  be  the  work  of  a 
person  of  fine  imagination." — Drama. 


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Dramatic  Readings 
for  Schools 


By  MARION  FLORENCE  LANSING 

Cloth,  Illustrated,  i2mo,  $o»50 

"Dramatic  Readings  for  Schools"  is  a  practice  book  in 
dramatics,  containing  thirty  intelligently  selected  stories, 
scenes,  and  episodes,  grouped  for  dramatization  by  children 
of  the  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh  grades.  It  is  the  motto  of  this 
book  that  in  the  upper  grades  dramatization  should  be  done 
by  the  children,  not  for  them.  With  this  thought  in  mind, 
the  editor  has  searched  the  field  of  children's  literature  for 
bright,  vivid,  well-written  selections  which  should  be  easily 
adapted  for  dramatic  uses.  With  literary  source  and  history 
of  selection,  with  necessary  prologue  or  introduction,  and  with 
enlivening  conversational  paragraphs,  these  selections  make 
a  new  and  desirable  addition  to  the  library  of  children's  litera- 
ture. 

Expressive  illustrations  of  striking  scenes,  explicit  and  sug- 
gestive "Helps  for  Dramatization"  written  directly  to  the 
"Boys  and  Girls  Who  Read  These  Stories  and  Want  to  Act 
Them "  and  simple  practical  "  Notes  to  Teachers,"  make  this 
book  an  easy  bridge  for  teacher  and  pupil  from  the  first  read- 
ing aloud  of  conversations  to  the  taking  of  parts  and  real 
dramatization. 


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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  T  A«a.  t. 

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